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The View from My Kitchen

Benvenuti! I hope you enjoy il panorama dalla mia cucina Italiana -- "the view from my Italian kitchen,"-- where I indulge my passion for Italian food and cooking. From here, I share some thoughts and ideas on food, as well as recipes and restaurant reviews, notes on travel, a few garnishes from a lifetime in the entertainment industry, and an occasional rant on life in general..

You can help by becoming a follower. I'd really like to know who you are and what your thoughts are on what I'm doing. Every great leader needs followers and if I am ever to achieve my goal of becoming the next great leader of the Italian culinary world :-) I need followers!

Grazie mille!
Showing posts with label Celebrity Chefs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Celebrity Chefs. Show all posts

Monday, October 20, 2025

Food Network Cans “The Kitchen.” But Wait: Does Food Network Really Still Exist?

Food Network Descended Into Obscurity Years Ago

A headline caught my eye this morning: “The Kitchen” Canceled At Food Network After More Than 10 Years.

I think I've watched “The Kitchen” maybe once. It's got a decent panel of hosts. I've especially always liked Geoffrey Zakarian. Jeff Mauro can be a bit tedious and I can take or leave Sunny Anderson and Katie Lee (when did she add “Biegel?”) But the reason I am not mourning the loss of the show is the same reason that I never watched it in the first place. It's on Food Network and for the most part Food Network no longer exists. It descended into obscurity years ago.

Somebody (user-gbidhgb5a8, to be specific) commenting on the impending (December 13) demise of “The Kitchen”, went to great pains to do some pertinent research. He discovered that in a given week – the week of October 20 through 26 – the once vital, exciting, innovative and relevant channel was devoting a scant nine percent of its programming time to actual cooking shows of the type it once pioneered and was noted for.

Back in the day, the day being almost any day in the early 2000s, I sat and absolutely absorbed the likes of Emeril Lagasse, Mario Batali, Giada De Laurentiis, Bobby Flay, Michael Chiarello, Ina Garten, the late Anne Burrell and a host of other people who could actually cook and who could show you how to cook like they did. Alton Brown and his often offbeat “Good Eats” was must-see TV. About the only competition-style show aired by the network in those days was a takeoff on the classic Japanese cooking show “Iron Chef” called “Iron Chef America.”

Back then, by the time you watched a week's worth of high-quality, information-laden programming on Food Network, you could almost credit yourself with week's worth of culinary school education.

But now? As user-gbidhgb5a8 notes, out of a total of 168 programming hours, the so-called “Food Network” offers 144 hours of absolute and nearly unwatchable dreck. I'm sure Guy Fieri is a nice guy, but you can only watch “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” so many times before your eyes begin to bleed and your brain turns to mush. And Chopped, Guy's Grocery Games, Beat Bobby Flay, Halloween Wars, Wizards of Baking, Worst Cooks in America, Alex vs. America, Bobby's Triple Threat, Wildcard Kitchen, Last Chef Standing and others on and on ad nauseam to the tune of 118 mind boggling hours is just insane. And don't forget the nine hours of time featuring early morning and/or overnight paid programming that I would be astounded to find anybody actually watching. That's five percent, by the way, compared to the nine percent they give to cooking shows.

“The Kitchen”, which premiered in 2014, just as the onrushing wave of mindless game shows was taking hold, was the last bastion of the old-style “dump and stir” shows. True, its panel of hosts spent a good deal of time talking about food and cooking, but they also presented recipes and techniques that you could take into your own kitchen. Not quite as hard core as some of the earlier cooking shows, but still – technically, at least – a cooking show in its own right.

And now it's gone. Unnamed sources say that “The Kitchen” has been canceled as a result of Food Network “evaluating resources and its priorities” ahead of the new year. Yeah. Right.

I don't know what they'll replace it with. The creativity well at Food Network has long since gone dry, leaving only a murky wet bottom from which to scrape new lows in quality programming. Maybe something featuring a knock down, drag out fight between the Chick-fil-A cows and a bunch of chickens. That would be compelling viewing by current standards. (And if something like that shows up on the air in the future, let this serve as my notice that I want creative credit for the idea, dammit.)

So addio Geoffrey et.al. I'm sure the fans who followed your show weekly for ten years will deeply miss you. And even though I never really watched you because your show aired after I had relegated your network to the dustbin of relevancy, I'll miss you, too. Or at least I'll miss what you represented: a clear note of a real cooking show amid the blaring, cacophonous brass of dull, boring, repetitive, colorless, insipid, lackluster and uninspiring effluvium currently being foisted off on a diminishing viewership by a once respected source for decent culinary programming.

Wednesday, April 30, 2025

I LOVE Vincenzo and Everything On His Plate!

He Tells It Like It Is!


I've been writing these little bits and pieces of advice and opinion for over twenty years. I don't how it is that, up until very recently, I missed a guy named Vincenzo Prosperi.

Born in Abruzzo in 1983 and now living in Australia with his Australian-born wife, Vincenzo is the creative genius behind the YouTube sensation “Vincenzo's Plate,” which he launched in 2014. Vincenzo has amassed an enormous following across many platforms. Because I don't spend any significant time on social media, I stumbled upon “Vincenzo's Plate” quite by accident. I watched one video and immediately became a follower. I've since watched close to a hundred and have yet to find one I didn't like.

The guy could be a much younger version of me. Our philosophies on food are nearly identical. He eschews the title “chef” and instead prefers to be called a cook. He readily acknowledges the influence his nonna's cooking has had on his own recipes and techniques, and he is way beyond a stickler when it comes to preserving Italian culinary traditions. In short, he tells it like it is and doesn't care who he takes on or whose ego he punctures in the process.

His “reaction” videos are priceless. Watching him take on various TikTok and YouTube idiots who blatantly massacre Italian traditions in the name of “creativity” or “convenience” or whatever is absolutely inspiring.

You'll hear him say, “What is this 'Italian seasoning' they talk about? It's herbs like oregano and basil. It's used in all kinds of cooking. What's “Italian” about it?” Some TikTok cretin was getting ready to pour a pile of about six different spices into an “Italian” pasta dish. “Where am I,” he said, “in India? There's nothing Italian about this.” When somebody broke the spaghetti in half for a baked spaghetti, Vincenzo cried out, “Did you see that?! She just killed the spaghetti!” Preach it, brother!

And he is not afraid to go after the big guns, either. He has very little use for Gordon Ramsay, for example, and even though Guy Fieri and Buddy Valastro have Italian names, they didn't do well under Vincenzo's scrutiny. And I had to laugh at Vincenzo's reaction to Paula Deen. Her putting a dry burger patty between two Krispy Kreme doughnuts absolutely stunned and horrified him. He called her a “nightmare,” a sentiment with which I can identify.

Even when he is generally approving of somebody he's watching, like Stanley Tucci making aglio e olio, he still offers insightful criticism when he sees something wrong. Shame on you, Stanley, for wasting extra virgin olive oil by adding it to the cooking water. And thinly slicing the garlic is good, but mincing or crushing it is better because then you don't have to eat chunks of garlic.

In most of his videos, Vincenzo pointedly wears (and sells) t-shirts proclaiming the immutable facts that there is no cream in carbonara and no pineapple on pizza.

Besides his hilarious and spot-on take downs of the flaws and foibles in other peoples recipes and techniques, his own offerings on how to properly prepare various Italian dishes are master classes in the art. After watching him make spaghetti pomodori the other day, I had to go make some for dinner myself, pleased with the realization that we both make it exactly the same way. My wife was wondering why I was yelling, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” at my computer. It was because I was watching Vincenzo lambasting some moronic attempt at making aglio e olio and then demonstrating the proper method.

Like me – and any Italian cook worth the title – Vincenzo is a huge proponent of finishing pasta in the sauce. He correctly says that cooking the pasta first and then dumping the sauce on top is a crime against good food. “The pasta dries out,” he says, “and it dies. It sits on the plate and it's dead.”

Neapolitan pizza dough, tomato sauce, cacio e pepe, Italian meatballs, gnocchi, lasagna, ravioli, arancini, bruschetta, tiramisu, cannoli.....and so much more. All done in the classic Italian style with no tolerance for “variations.” You wanna put cream and peas in your carbonara? Fine. But don't call it “carbonara” because it's not. Some YouTube boob will proclaim that Italians use garlic in everything. Vincenzo will call “stronzate” on that and show you how to use garlic with restraint, the way real Italians do.

The subtitles accompanying his videos are unintentionally funny in and of themselves. His accent is quite thick and whoever captions him often does it so badly that the English captions sometimes require English translation. For instance, in one video he said “spaghetti aglio e olio” but the caption read “spaghettio.”

Even though he lives in Australia, Vincenzo is proudly and passionately Italian and considers himself to be an ambassador for Italian culture. He finds inspiration in all things Italian. He once was inspired to create a baked pasta dish after listening to Andrea Bocelli and Ariana Grande sing “e più ti penso,” the inspiration coming from Andrea's classical Italian authenticity combined with Ariana's more contemporary approach.

So, I could go on talking about Vincenzo and “Vincenzo's Plate” for several more pages but why don't you just go and discover him for yourself? He's on YouTube and Facebook and all the popular platforms, but just Google “Vincenzo's Plate” and you'll find him. When you do, I promise you'll become a follower.

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Review: Giada, The Cromwell, Las Vegas, Nevada


A True Gem Among Rhinestones

Okay, anybody who knows me knows that I'm a particular fan of Giada De Laurentiis. I became a fan during her “Everyday Italian” days on Food Network, back when the network was actually worth watching. In addition to being a talented chef, I've always found her to be a nice person. I've actually met Giada, spoken with her, spent time with her and have frequently defended her against shallow detractors who criticize her for her appearance. Is there a more absurd reason to “hate” a person?

Anyway, I was excited when Giada made the announcement in 2014 that she was opening a restaurant in Las Vegas, joining the ranks of many other “celebrity” chefs with eponymous eateries there. And I was even more excited when I finally got the opportunity to dine at her signature place.

I don't much like Las Vegas in general. It's just not my scene. In the first place, with apologies to Elvis, the “bright light city” doesn't so much “set my soul on fire” as it just burns up my wallet. I'm not fond, for example, of shelling out ten dollars for a Coke and a candy bar. I don't gamble, I don't like crowds, I don't like noise, I don't like drunks, and I especially don't like crowds of noisy, gambling drunks. And I object to being accosted by grubby pornslappers who pop their smutty little cards at me every ten feet as I walk along The Strip. After all, why should I patronize them when I can, as the numerous rolling billboard trucks proclaim, have girls delivered “direct to your room” just like a pizza? Thank you. No.

I do, however, appreciate the vibrant Vegas food scene. Just about every “famous” chef I know either personally or through various media has a place in “The Entertainment Capital of the World.” Tom Colicchio, Gordon Ramsay, Emeril Lagasse, Masahara Morimoto, Buddy Valastro, Joel Robuchon, Guy Fieri, Wolfgang Puck, Jose Andres, Robert Irvine......the list is extensive to say the least. But it was on Giada's place at The Cromwell that I was focused this trip.

We had a 9 p.m. reservation, but between being seriously jet lagged and frankly tired of all the throngs crowding The Strip, we showed up early with the intention of just sitting quietly at the bar until nine if necessary. Fortunately, it wasn't: thanks to a very friendly and accommodating staff, we were seated within about thirty minutes. But our relatively brief sojourn at the bar was quite comfortable and pleasant. We were attended to promptly and settled in to enjoy a nice Pinot Noir (hers) and a cool glass of Peroni (mine). When we were seated, we were quite well seated, thank you, at one of the coveted window tables overlooking The Strip below and the adjacent fountains of the Bellagio. The restaurant's huge retractable windows were open on a pleasant autumn evening, enabling us to take in all the dazzling sights and cacophonous sounds from a nice safe perch on the hotel's second floor.

The ambiance and décor are very much reflective of Giada, including works by her artist friend, Darren Quinn. Giada fans and viewers will recognize his “Amore” from her TV show set. There are also some wonderful portraits of her, her grandfather, Dino, and her beautiful grandmother, Silvana Mangano displayed near the bar. It's an elegant and sophisticated vibe that is at the same time quite understated and soothing in the midst of all the surrounding glitz and faux glamour.

I don't know where Giada (the restaurant) found Fred, but I wish he could be cloned or at the very least loaned out to train every server at every eating place in the country. Friendly, personable, efficient, and knowledgeable, Fred was a joy. He was perfectly professional without being the least bit pretentious or stuffy. He never hovered, but he was never far away. His familiarity with every dish was impressive, although I do wish he'd learn to pronounce “mascarpone.” The flat, American-accented “mahs-car-POHN” was a bit grating, but that's just the annoying purist in me. Fred's recommendations were spot on and he seemed genuinely pleased when we were genuinely pleased by them. Obviously somebody who enjoys his craft and is not just collecting a paycheck.

Whoever was running the kitchen the night we were there (I know it wasn't Giada) also obviously enjoys their craft and is extremely good at it. The food was absolutely delicious. Giada features a unique fusion of Giada De Lauretiis' personal “authentic Italian meets modern California” style. By and large, it's lighter fare that doesn't necessarily sacrifice any of the traditional Italian taste.

My wife was especially amazed by her ravioli with Brussels sprouts and brown butter. She has never met a Brussels sprout she enjoyed – until now. Her fulsome praise of the cook on the vegetable and her equally enthusiastic enjoyment of the delicately unctuous brown butter were the talk of the evening. My bucatini pasta dish was also enjoyable, with a sweetly tangy pomodoro sauce and perfectly cooked pasta. Well, the al dente texture was perfect. The pasta itself could have benefited from just a teensie bit more salt. I know a lot of places have to cook to the lowest common denominator of misinformed patrons who are convinced that the slightest amount of salt in their food will lead them straight to hardened arteries and an early grave, but I was somewhat disappointed that the cooks at Giada would fall into that. Giada knows, as every Italian does, that salt – in what some consider egregious amounts – is the only way to flavor pasta. There was a little dish of flake salt on our table, placed there to compliment some incredible bread, and I crushed and sprinkled the tiniest pinch of it over my dish to immediately discernible results. The minuscule addition made the tomato flavor in the sauce pop even more. But again, I'm a purist and a cook. Others may not have noticed or appreciated the difference.

And these were porzioni veramente italiane, truly Italian portions. No huge overflowing platters of food. These were perfectly plated individual portions, not great piles designed to feed ravenous hordes like you usually find in “Italian” places.

Speaking as I was of the bread, a complimentary plate of ciabatta and an olive oil rosemary bread was absolutely to die for when combined with a selection of condiments that included the aforementioned flake salt, some capers, some peperoncino, an herbed olive oil, and an insanely good lemon mascarpone butter. I'm definitely stealing that last one.

I'd also like to steal the hot cocoa souffle that capped our incredible meal. A fresh-baked hot chocolate souffle that was deflated tableside and filled with rich chocolate sauce and served next to a scoop of creamy marshmallow gelato. Buonissimo! Perfetto! Delizioso! And a whole bunch of other Italian superlatives.

Did this heavenly repast come cheap? Oh, hell no. My credit card went straight to ICU. But you know what? The food, the service, the atmosphere, the entire experience was worth every penny and I'll eagerly do it again next time I'm in town. Just don't think you're going to Olive Garden when you cross the threshold at Giada. The food is obviously superior to anything you'll ever get at such a place, but be aware that you'll get a lot less for a lot more.

Giada is located on the second floor of The Cromwell Hotel & Casino at 3595 S. Las Vegas Blvd. They serve a weekend brunch Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and are open from 9 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. those days. Monday through Thursday hours are 5 p.m until 10:30. Parking? Yeah, right. This is Vegas, baby. Reservations are not strictly required but are strongly suggested. Dress is golf course or business casual. But again, this is Vegas: don't be surprised by anything you see. Allow at least an hour to an hour-and-a-half for your dining experience. Call (855) 442-3271 or visit the website at https://www.caesars.com/cromwell/restaurants/giada .

Sunday, January 13, 2019

Review: Bobby's Burger Palace, Potomac Mills Mall, Woodbridge, Virginia


I'd Go There Again

Okay, so I'm not like a really close personal friend of Bobby Flay's. I don't have his number on speed dial on my phone. (Although I do have a few pictures of him on it!) I have met him at industry events (hence the pictures) and have spent a little time talking food and cooking with him. Anyway, when I spotted a “Bobby's Burger Palace” at the mall near my hotel in the Washington, DC suburb of Woodbridge, Virginia, I figured, “Bobby's place? Why not?” And my wife and I went on over there for dinner.

Even a few days after Christmas, the parking lot of the super-busy Potomac Mills Mall was packed. My wife had driven us over from the hotel and she suggested I hop out and get a table while she found a place to park.

First off, there's no “getting a table:” the place is counter service and all the tables are communal. Surprisingly, considering the overall volume at the mall, Bobby's wasn't particularly busy at 6:30 or so on a chilly, rainy Thursday night. There was one couple in line in front of us, three more people came in after us, and there were perhaps eight or ten other customers seated at tables around the restaurant. As I said, all tables are communal, so if you're looking for a place for a romantic interlude or even for quiet personal conversation, don't look here. Unless you don't mind sharing your thoughts with the strangers sitting across the table or seated beside you. More on that in a second, but picture having an intimate dining experience at a Waffle House service counter. Get the idea?

But hey! It's a burger joint. It's described in published literature as an “upscale fast casual restaurant” and I can get behind that description. The location, the ambiance, and the menu are definitely a cut above, say, “What-a-Burger” or “Five Guys.” But all in all, it is what it is: it's an “upscale” burger joint. Just as Bobby Flay intended.

Bobby Flay has come up through the ranks. From age ten when he asked for an Easy Bake oven for Christmas to the French Culinary Institute to his work with Jonathan Waxman and Jerome Kretchmer to helming the kitchens at Mesa Grill, Bolo Bar & Restaurant, Bar Americain, and Bobby Flay Steak, Bobby has circulated in the upper atmosphere of the culinary world for many years. Back in 2008, he decided he wanted to work a little closer to the ground: to bring a touch of the “fine dining” experience to the more common market. Bobby says, “Food is the epicenter of my life – what inspires me every day. It’s the way I make my living, the way I relax, the way I express myself and how I keep healthy. I want to share that passion with as many people as possible.” And since one of his favorite things to eat and cook is a burger, the first “Bobby's Burger Palace” opened at Smith Haven Mall in Lake Grove, Long Island in July of that year. The location where we dined is one of nineteen now spread across eleven states and the DC area.

The menu is pretty simple and straighforward. There are about a dozen sandwiches on offer, including a veggie burger and an adult “griddled cheese.” You can choose your meats from among beef, turkey, and chicken and opt for add-ons of bacon, fried egg, or double meat. You can have your burger “crunchified” – topped with crispy potato chips – at no extra cost. Hand cut fries, sweet potato fries and buttermilk onion rings round out the menu. BBP also features a selection of “spoon bending” shakes in a variety of flavors. Unlike your run of the mill burger stands, BBP serves beer, wine, and frozen margaritas as well as the usual assortment of soft drinks.

My burger-loving wife went with the Palace Classic Burger. She also ordered one of those signature shakes, the vanilla bean one. Heretical though it may seem, I'm not a burger guy. I'm part Italian. I like food that ends in vowels. But the Griddled Cheese looked appealing, so I ordered one. The food was outstanding. My wife found her burger to be completely drool worthy and even the “griddled” cheese was way above average. The fries were perfect and the portions more than adequate. And the prices were ridiculously reasonable. It didn't cost us any more to eat “upscale” fare at Bobby's place than it would have had we gone to the Five Guys down the road.

The only thing that gave us pause was the service. It was kinda slow for the relatively low volume of business. Now I don't know that the kitchen may not have been snowed under with call-in orders or something, but they seemed to have a hard time getting food out to the dining room in a timely manner. It's an open kitchen so you can see what's going on back there, and to our trained eyes it looked like the flow could have been a little smoother and the service a bit faster. The ticket time on our order was nearly thirty minutes. Now that's about industry average for an an entree at an “upscale” fast casual joint, but considering the aforementioned Five Guys boasts a seven to eight minute ticket time for the same order...... well......it just seemed a little long for a burger and fries. And my wife's shake arrived a full five minutes after her burger had been served.

And call me anti-social but I'm not so much on the seating concept. My wife and I sat across from one another near the end of one of the long tables. We were quietly discussing the events of our days when a party of three women seated themselves immediately to my wife's right, leaving one or two seats between. So now you've got five people at a ten or twelve-top, four on one side and one on the other. As the newcomers started their conversation it kinda put a damper on ours. Communal tables are great for large parties of friends or family. But two groups of strangers sitting elbow to elbow? Not so much.

Be that as it may, would I go back to another Bobby's Burger Palace? Sure. I'd definitely go there again, especially now that I know what to expect. The place was scrupulously clean, the atmosphere was pleasant, the service was friendly if a bit slow, the food was delicious, and the price was right. Overall, it was a great experience and one I'd recommend – with certain caveats – to anybody looking for a nice “upscale fast casual restaurant.”

The BBP I went to is located at 2700 Potomac Mills Circle, Woodbridge, VA 22192. They're open Sunday thru Thursday from 11AM to 9PM, and on Friday and Saturday from 11AM to 10PM. You can call them at (703) 490-2121. No reservations. Casual attire. Ample parking. Call-in and online ordering are available. The Potomac Mills location partners with Doordash for delivery. Find more locations at http://bobbysburgerpalace.com/locations


Thursday, May 24, 2018

Saying “Ciao” To The Chew


“We Wish Them The Very Best”

I can't say I'm completely surprised. Although it happened a little faster than I thought it would, ABC's decision to ax the afternoon gabber/eater The Chew was pretty much a foregone conclusion. The cooking show that replaced the venerable soap opera All My Children back in 2011 will itself be replaced by an expanded version of the popular newser Good Morning America this coming September. Oh, well. É vita. (That's Italian for c'est la vie.)

I've been up and down about The Chew for most of its seven season existence. My initial reaction when the show debuted was “The Chew is a little hard to swallow.” I went on to say that “after a few bites I'm honestly trying to like The Chew, but it's simply got to get better.”

I've never liked the cutesy name: The Chew was intended as a play on words to its lead-in talker, The View. (Somebody at ABC actually got paid to come up with that one.) And I was none too enamored of the cast, either. Mario Batali was the undisputed star of the piece and, frankly, the only reason I tuned in in the first place. Somebody obviously owed celebrity doctor Mehmet Oz a favor and paid it off by giving his cute but clueless daughter Daphne a co-hosting gig. Top Chef alum Carla Hall was flighty and unfocused, “Iron Chef” Michael Symon proved his mettle to be more like aluminum (foil?), and “style expert” Clinton Kelly must have seen the end of his What Not To Wear road coming and decided to just go along for the ride.

The first few episodes were nearly unwatchable as the fractious five struggled to become a cohesive unit. Mario, Michael, and Carla did their best to draw on their food TV experience in an attempt to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, but it was apparent that Mario was phoning it in and that Michael and Carla were still searching the Yellow Pages for the number. And, as I observed at the time, “Watching the real food experts on the set prepare drool-worthy dishes and then watching Ms. Oz throw a handful of psyllium husks on a bowlful of yogurt was like watching a gourmet food truck crash into the front of a health food store.” Of Clinton I said, “With no real food experience and a personality that vacillates between supercilious and just plain silly, he adds little to the show, although his tablescape segment on Day 3 was interesting. Maybe he'll grow on me.”

And he did. So did Daphne. Carla toned down the shuck and jive a little and although Michael still “caramelized” everything in sight instead of just browning it, he developed a great rapport with the other four and with the audience as well. Mario was Mario right up until the end, which, of course, is what led to his downfall.

Now, ABC is denying that Mario's recent fall from grace over his unsavory behavior and an ongoing NYPD investigation into his sexual peccadilloes had anything to do with their decision to truncate the program. They used the “Godfather” defense: “It's just business.” The fact that The Chew's inevitable association with the man in the orange Crocs and the precipitous seventeen percent drop in viewership among the critical 18 – 49 female demographic after his outing plunged ratings back to freshman season levels when all the disgruntled soap fans were still organizing protests obviously had nothing to do with it. They just needed another hour for GMA, so bye-bye Clinton and company. Ri-i-i-i-i-ght!

It didn't matter to me: I stopped watching The Chew the day Mario was fired. As I said, he was the main reason I watched anyway. And as I've written elsewhere, even though he was a rotten, deplorable role model whose superior intelligence was belied by the fact that he stupidly attached a cinnamon roll recipe to his official “apology,” he is still an incredibly talented, knowledgeable, innovative Italian chef who has an intrinsic knack for teaching as well as for cooking. I learned more from Molto Mario reruns than I did from almost any culinary class I ever took. Daphne Oz taking leave of the show last year barely caused a ripple: Mario's ousting was like a tidal wave. On the one hand, you had fans like me who lost interest without Mario's presence and influence, while on the other hand were the #MeToo crowd who abhorred and denounced the fact that he ever had a presence and influence to begin with. And smack in the middle was the network, valiantly trying to hold the pieces together when even the pieces were left in a weird, directionless limbo. Just a few days prior to the cancellation announcement, Carla Hall talked about the vacancy left by Batali. She said that The Chew had no plans to replace him, and that the remaining hosts had “become closer” since his bombshell banishment.

For its part, Disney/ABC, speaking in the voice of Disney/ABC Television president Ben Sherwood, made it all sound very matter-of-fact and gave it a nice Mickey Mouse spin: “Over the past six years Good Morning America has solidified its place as America’s No. 1 morning show. We believe there is great opportunity for viewers and advertisers in expanding to a third hour.” At least he was politic enough to put “viewers” before “advertisers” in the statement. But I think in reality the order was probably quite the reverse. I mean, there was obviously nothing left to do with The Chew. And what did it accomplish, after all? As a talk/food hybrid, it only broke new ground, running 1,454 episodes over seven seasons while garnering multiple Emmy noms and winning two of them. But once you hung a crude and socially unacceptable red-haired, fleece vest-wearing albatross around its neck, all past bets were off and the shiny new “great opportunity” was brought to the fore. I can almost guarantee, however, that nobody at the House of Mouse had the first thought about a third hour for “ America’s No. 1 morning show” before a certain Italian chef fell off his high horse and got dragged through the Spotted Pig-shit.

Sources say it will all go down like this: Whereas GMA's principal competitor, NBC's Today, runs a consecutive four hours, the new GMA move will not impact the syndicated Live With Kelly & Ryan show, which follows the first two hours of GMA in most markets. The aforementioned talker, The View, will stay put following Live. Because of that scheduling and a noon local newscast in many markets, the third hour of the revamped GMA will air in The Chew's old 1 PM -2 PM time slot, some three hours after the morning show’s second hour. So you'll watch two hours of GMA in the morning, then watch Kelly Ripa and her co-host de jour and the ladies of The View for a couple of hours, then maybe sit through a noon newser, and then come back for another hour of Good Morning America, which will actually be airing in the afternoon. Makes sense to me. What are they going to call it, Good Afternoon America? The abbreviation would be GAA. I don't think that will sell. We'll just have to wait and see, I guess.

As The Chew masticates its last, I'm sure there will be “great opportunities” ahead for the remaining embattled co-hosts. Carla and Michael, who both reacted to the news with thanks to viewers for an “amazing ride” and an “amazing run,” respectively, might have to fall back on cooking for awhile until Food Network offers them a vacuous game show of some sort. Ever the philosopher, Clinton Kelly said, “Huge bummer, but that’s the TV biz.” Hey, he's still “fabulous,” after all, so I'm sure something appropriate will come his way. Daphne is off making Dr. Oz a granddaddy over and over again and Mario has switched his focus from diners with forks to activists with pitchforks, so he'll be quite busy for the foreseeable future.

Sherwood added this closing to his statement, “For seven years The Chew has delighted audiences by delivering innovative food segments in an entertaining atmosphere. We applaud and thank Gordon Elliott, Aimee Householder, Michael Symon, Carla Hall, Clinton Kelly and the entire cast and crew for their great work and amazing run. And we wish them the very best.”

“Ciao” to The Chew. It's been nice knowin' ya.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Mario Batali Is A Rotten Role Model – But He's Still A Great Chef

Personal Inadequacies Have Overridden Professional Brilliance

With apologies to the Bard, I come not to praise Mario Batali, but not to bury him, either.

Everybody knows I like Mario, so I've been hearing it all week. “Hey! What about your buddy Mario?” “What do you think of Batali now?” “Man, that's really something about your pal Mario.” Frankly, it's all left me quite conflicted. Before you start screaming, “How can you be conflicted? The man's obviously a pig!,” let me attempt to explain.

I used to work with a guy in radio who was a champ in terms of being offensive. This guy used to bring in nothing but young college-age girls to work as interns, producers, and on-air personalities. Most of them had no experience and little aptitude or talent, but that was okay: our boy was only too happy to “train” them. One of them showed up on my doorstep in tears one night when an attempted “training” session went sideways. After she related her story of being backed into a corner and groped, my wife said, “God, what a pig! Can't somebody do something about him?” It was the '80s and the short answer was “no,” because although being a debauched, leering, philandering, womanizing, lecherous Lothario might have been highly distasteful, it wasn't strictly illegal – and he was, after all, the boss. The law was laid down: “It's my way or the highway.” Women had to take it or leave it. A few of them took it: most of them left.

For all that his personal conduct was deplorable, though, he was absolutely brilliant at what he did professionally. He was an innovative, gifted, talented broadcaster without peer. He was famous for single-handedly turning around the ratings at radio stations wherever he went. Don't think for a minute that his licentious behavior went unnoticed. His moral shortcomings were pretty much an open secret in the business, but, dammit, he got ratings and he made money. As long as he didn't depants some teen intern in the hall and publicly have his way with her, his proclivities were generally overlooked by management and ownership. None of the rest of us could understand it. He was A) physically unattractive, B) possessed of a permanent case of halitosis, and C) married with two kids. But there he was; turning stomachs when he thought he was turning heads. One of my coworkers said it best: “As a professional, you can't touch him. As a person, you don't want to.”

Apparently, that's also Mario.

I don't know the man personally. I was in the same room with him once during a live cooking demo. That's as close to him as I ever got. But even from a distance, I could detect elements of my former radio colleague in Mario's attitudes and mannerisms. Reading Bill Buford's “Heat” reinforced my observations. I've seen Mario described as “hedonistic” and “a man of Falstaffian appetites.” I've heard that he likes to “live large.” That his presence “dominates any room he's in.” Even at the cooking demo, his personal dynamic changed the very energy in the room as he breezed in and immediately took charge of his fawning, adoring audience. He's Mario-freakin'-Batali, fer cryin' out loud! And he knows it. So what that he likes to get liquored up and put his hands where they don't belong? Isn't that a small price to pay for the privilege of basking in his greatness? Ah! But now it's the twenty-teens and, having been caught one time too many with his cargo shorts down figuratively if not literally, the answer appears once again to be a resounding “no.”

Times have changed and are continuing to do so at a dizzying pace. “Take it or leave it,” “my way or the highway,” and similar sentiments are not tolerated as well in the current generation as they once were. And, for better or worse, Mario and his generation are products of their time. I can say that because I'm a few years older than Mario and I know whereof I speak. The world was a different place when it was handed over to us in the sixties and early seventies. The swinging “Playboy philosophy” and the concepts of “free love,” “do your own thing,” and “sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll” that informed our formative years simply don't fly anymore and anybody unwilling or unable to make the adjustment is riding for a fall. And it seems that Mario, a poster child for the freewheeling, free-loving, hard rockin' past, has, indeed fallen.

And the thing is, nobody is in the least surprised because everybody was in on the “secret.” A headline from Eater sums it up: “The Food World Reacts to Mario Batali News With Anger — and a Lack of Surprise.” Mario Batali, known by some as the “Red Menace,” is a lecher and a creep? Why, we're shocked! (Wink, wink.) So do the right thing already, Mario. Apologize. Admit to what everybody already knows or at least suspects and move on. Great advice. And then what does he do? He goes and pillories himself by attaching a holiday cinnamon roll recipe to his heartfelt mea culpa. (Sigh: facepalm)

The pity is that his personal inadequacies have overridden his professional brilliance. While you may not want to touch him as a person, nobody but nobody can touch him as a chef. A Michelin star, three stars from the New York Times, and a James Beard “Best New Restaurant” award for his work at Babbo, GQ's “Man of the Year” in the chef category. “Who's Who of Food & Beverage in America.” “Best Chef: New York City,” “All-Clad Cookware Outstanding Chef Award,” and “Best Restaurateur” from the James Beard Foundation. Induction into the Culinary Hall of Fame. Emmy Award-winning TV shows and a raft of bestselling cookbooks. Those are bona fide bona fides if ever there were any.

I make absolutely no bones about or excuses for the fact that much of what I know about Italian food and cooking came from Mario by way of “Molto Mario,” “Iron Chef America,” “The Chew,” and many of his dozen-plus cookbooks. The man is a walking encyclopedia of ingredients and techniques. More importantly, he is a natural teacher who is fun and entertaining to watch as he imparts his knowledge. I came away with more useful information from a single thirty-minute episode of Molto Mario than I did in many hours of more “formal” culinary instruction, and I had more fun doing it.

And it is just a dead-dog shame that so many people, in the interest of modern political correctness masquerading as social outrage, are willing to crucify Mario for being what he can't help being: a product of his time. I'm not saying he's right for some of the things he did. I'm not holding him up as a role model for young chefs or for young men in general. The “product of his time” excuse should not excuse his egregious transgressions, but perhaps it should serve as a prism through which his actions can be viewed and from which a perspective can be taken that might ameliorate the consequences. Mario's a creeper. I get that. He's a low-down, lascivious, concupiscent, satyric libertine. (He also likes big words.) I'm not going to argue. He likes to leer and fondle. Yuck! So let's bring him to account for his actions and force him to accept the mores of modern society no matter how antithetical it might be to his psyche, his adopted persona, and his core upbringing. Make him capitulate and conform to current ethics. If not, kick him to the curb. But let's not erase him as if he never existed.

Right now, as I write, his products are being pulled from store shelves. He has been sacked by his employers. His longtime backers are backing away at a furious rate and future projects are being put “on hold.” He has become anathema; the fashion-challenged face of all that is wrong with the industry in specific and with society at large. Michael Chiarello, Todd English, Johnny Iuzzini, John Besh: they've all been scrutinized for their indiscretions and peccadillos and found scorn in the public eye. But Mario, with all his swagger and bluster, is bigger, much bigger, and so is much more fun to take down and tear apart. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” don't you know?

Another thing to consider as the almost gleeful disassembly of the Batali empire continues to dominate the media cycle is the effect it all has on the thousands of people employed by that empire. Mario's made his fortune. He's worth more than twenty-five million. Even if he never works another day, his future is fairly secure. But as we tar and feather the boss and ride him out of town on a rail, are we giving any consideration to the people who are really being affected by all the bans and boycotts? “I'm never gonna eat at another Batali restaurant!” You think you're hurting Mario? It's the cooks, the servers, and the rest of the staff you're giving the shaft. And they didn't do anything to deserve it.

Yeah, I'm disappointed in Mario and more than a little disgusted. But I'm even more disappointed and disgusted in the people who are chomping at the bit to pile on to somebody who's down. Like the bottom feeding “reporters” who followed him down a New York street snapping pictures as he tried to go to lunch and pointing out to readers that he was still wearing his wedding ring. Apparently they were incredulous that Susi, his wife of more than twenty years, hadn't immediately and unceremoniously turned on him. They had done it, after all; why shouldn't she?

I'm not going to participate in the wholesale slaughter of a fallen icon whose greatest offense was being a misguided member of a misguided generation. Okay, so he should have kept it in his pants. Point taken. But as we censure and castigate him for his iniquities can we at least leave him his pants? Is it necessary to completely expunge him from our collective consciousness. Or can we, perhaps, as the evangelicals say, “hate the sin but love the sinner?” He's still a human being, after all, and capable of redemption. Which reminds me: isn't there some biblical reference to stone throwing? Reading the comments that accompany some of the press leaves me heartened to know that I live in a country with three-hundred million saints and apparently only one sinner.

So I'm not going to remove references to Mario from my past writings and I'm not going to excise his recipes from my collection. I'm not going to throw away his cookbooks, I'm not going to divest myself of products bearing his name or likeness. I will invoke his name in a positive light when the situation warrants, and if he ever turns up on TV again – which doesn't appear likely – I'll watch him. Why? Because even though he's a rotten role model, he's still a good chef. He taught me a lot and he brought me a lot of enjoyment over the years and I'm not gonna trash his ass and toss him in the gutter because he has proven to be flawed. Everybody's had fun sitting in their judgment seats and giving full-throated voice to their righteous moral indignation. Now leave him alone to reevaluate and rebuild his life.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Five Food Network Chefs Haters Love To Hate

“There's Always Going To Be Haters”

Since it signed on in 1993, Food Network – or the “TV Food Network" as it was called in those days – has presented us with quite a variety of food personalities. “Celebrity chefs” we call them, although many are not chefs at all. Some are “celebrity cooks” at best. But whether “chef” or “cook,” all are certainly celebrated in popular culture. And like most pop celebrities, they are either beloved or hated.

“Hate” is a strong word. Webster defines it as “intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury.” Honestly, how many TV chefs do you really fear? I think the Urban Dictionary does a better job of describing a “hater” as “a person that simply cannot be happy for another person's success. So rather than be happy they make a point of exposing a flaw in that person. Hating, the result of being a hater, is not exactly jealousy. The hater doesn't really want to be the person he or she hates, rather the hater wants to knock someone else down a notch.”

That definition resonates. So here, in no particular order and presented along with my own personal approbation or excoriation, are five “celebrity chefs” haters love to hate.


Giada De Laurentiis

Giada has a lot of haters. There are websites and blogs dedicated to hating on Giada De Laurentiis. It's almost a subculture. Some haters think she's pretentious and some haters think she's a poser and a fake. Some say, “She looks like she's afraid to get her hands dirty.” People hate on her because she smiles too much. People hate on her because she shows off her cleavage. People hate on her because they think her head is too big. A bunch of haters call her “man hands.” The hater media went nuts a while back with a story about Nicole Kidman “spitting out Giada's food” on TV.  One of the biggest reasons people cite for hating Giada is her “over-enunciation” of Italian words.

(Sigh)

I'm not claiming to be a personal friend, but at least I have met Giada. I've been in a room with her, spoken with her, spent time with her – which is more than most of her detractors can say. You want my two cents? You'll get it anyway. Calling another human being a “bobble head” is a strong indicator of your level of maturity. You want to hate on her because of her smile, her figure, her head, her hands – fine. I think hating somebody because of the way they look is the depth of shallowness.

Ignorance is also a poor excuse for hating someone. For instance, on the subject of her “over-enunciation” of Italian words, food blogger Brooke Newberry says: “Giada is totally from California. So what’s up with the Italian food pronunciation?”

Mi dispiace, tesoro, ma sei un idiota non informato. (Google it if you need to.) Giada is not “totally from California.” She's “totally” from Rome and hardly spoke English when she moved to California as a child. Funny, when Texas-born Mexican-American chef Aarón Sánchez “over-enunciates” Spanish words, nobody bitches. Why does Giada get the hate treatment for correctly speaking her native language?

Lest you think me a completely uncritical fanboy, there is one thing Giada does that drives me to distraction: she “grabs” everything. She grabs a bowl, she grabs a pan, she grabs a spoon, she grabs an onion. Please, Giada, grab a thesaurus!

As for the rest of the ninny-whiner BS, back off on all the “hate” and do a little research on Giada's background. You might find some holes in your bigotry.

Giada is philosophical about the whole thing. I asked her about it once and she said, “There's always going to be haters and there's always going to be people who like you and you just can't please everybody.”

Bobby Flay

One of the most common “hater points” about Bobby Flay is that he's cocky and arrogant. “Jerk” and “dick” are some of the more common epithets hurled in his direction. People think his shows “Throwdown” and “Beat Bobby Flay” are just vehicles to reinforce his arrogance by allowing him to beat down and lord it over lower level cooks. It's television, people. The Food Network execs are way more responsible for Bobby's image than Bobby himself is. And besides, he does lose now and again.

Muhammad Ali is credited with saying, “It's not bragging if you can back it up.” Bobby can back it up. He's been a linchpin at Food Network almost since Day One. He's had fourteen shows and specials on the network, eight of which still air regularly. He's also made crossover appearances on many of the network’s other programs as well as guest shots on shows like The Early Show over on CBS. Add in a half-dozen Daytime Emmy awards and three citations by the James Beard Foundation, including Rising Star Chef of the Year in 1993, a dozen best-selling cookbooks and a sprinkling of other television and movie roles, and I think maybe the cockiness is a little justified.

Based only on what I saw on TV, I used to think Bobby was a jerk, too. But after I met the man, spent some time talking with him, and watched his interaction with an awestruck young fan who had just won some sort of local cooking contest, my opinion completely changed. Isn't it amazing what a little education and information can do?

Guy Fieri

Boisterous, bleached, bowling-shirted Guy Fieri rubs a lot of people the wrong way. I'm one of them, but not really because of anything personal against Guido. I just don't like the way Food Network packages and markets him by shoving him down my throat 24/7/365. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. But again, that's television. Find a good vehicle and drive it to death.

Guy is one of those “not a chef” celebrity chefs. He started his food career in grade school selling pretzels and washing dishes. After developing a more defined food focus as an exchange student in France, Guy worked in restaurants and wound up with a degree in Hotel Management from UNLV. The rest of his meteoric rise is Food Network history.

Never one to mince words, Anthony Bourdain describes Guy as “silly,” but also bears him grudging respect. "I look at that and think what a lot of people think: ridiculous and painful -- even insulting. But I also think 'That’s one hard-working man, glad I don’t have to work that hard.'”

Guy's over-the-top personality is not my cup of tea. I don't relate to man caves, hot rods, and hard rock. I've never met Guy. I don't “hate” him. I just don't think we have much in common. I could be wrong. Maybe the opportunity will arise for him to change my mind someday. It happened with Bobby.

There is one thing that endears Guy to me, though, and that's his attitude toward his name. His great-grandfather was one of thousands of Italian immigrants who changed the family name to “fit in” and “be more American.” To honor his family and his Italian heritage, Guy changed his name back from the Americanized “Ferry” to the original “Fieri.” And he properly rolls the “r” when he says it, too. Uh-oh, he'd better be careful; somebody might accuse him of “over-enunciating” an Italian word.

Sandra Lee

Sandra Lee has almost as many haters as Giada and for many of the same reasons. There's a lot of hate over Sandra's cleavage-baring outfits and her painted on smile. The main difference is that Sandra's haters aren't as vocal and virulent about it. Well, most of them anyway. Anthony Bourdain alone more than takes up the slack. "Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained." See what I mean?

A lot of haters think Sandra Lee is a plastic princess. She's bashed on a regular basis on hater websites like “Semi-Horrible Cooking” and YouTube channels like “Sandra Lee Sucks.” New York Times critic Amanda Hesser slams Sandra for seeming “more intent on encouraging people to create excuses for not cooking than on encouraging them to cook wholesome simple foods.”

I don't know Sandra Lee, so I can't “hate” her, per se, but I can disagree with her “Semi-Homemade” culinary POV. I'm an elitist fresh food snob and unrepentantly proud of it. Whereas Sandra's philosophy revolves around using thirty percent fresh ingredients and seventy percent canned or packaged dreck, my methodology runs in exactly the opposite direction. Except thirty percent might be a little generous. Bourdain further rips her signature style, "All you have to do is waddle into the kitchen, open a can of crap and spread it on some other crap that you bought at the supermarket. And then you've done something really special." That said, Mario Batali, himself no stranger to the fresh vs processed battle, opines, “She gets people out of fast-food chains, and that’s a good thing. At least she gets them in the kitchen, even if they are using frozen berries.” You can't disagree with that.

Sandra Lee came to Food Network about the time the network execs were turning away from actual trained chefs and bringing in more “relateable” cooks. She never actually wanted to do a “cooking show,” preferring the realm of home and garden. The network wonks basically said, “Fine. Do decorating and tablescapes if you want to. As long as you find a way to cook, too.” So, drawing on her two-week cooking course at Le Cordon Bleu in Ottawa, “Semi-Homemade” was born.

Aside from all that, Sandra has had a difficult path in life and I admire her pluck and courage. Like I said, I'm not a “hater” but neither am I a fan.

Paula Deen

Speaking of not being a fan, I've seen Paula Deen, the woman who advocates frying butter, in person and I remain largely unimpressed. Her “live cooking” demos are usually just excuses for her adoring dupes to gather and listen to and hoot about her tales of adult diapers and her husband's feet while her faithful and overworked assistant does all the actual cooking. Without an ounce of culinary training, Paula Deen employed enormous grit and determination to elevate herself from her “Bag Lady” days preparing bag lunches for office workers in Savannah to a successful restaurant in that city and then on to a national television empire. That much is admirable. Her empire crumbled, however, when some of her less admirable personality traits began to manifest themselves.

My wife and I watched some of her early televised efforts. They were.......cute......in a crazy Southern aunt sort of way. But even then her personality made something in me itch. I've lived in the South for more than forty years. I've resided in Virginia, Florida, Tennessee, Alabama, and both Carolinas and I've traveled extensively in Kentucky, Georgia, Mississippi, and the rest of the South. And I will tell you one thing most emphatically: in all my years and all my travels, I've never met anyone who says “y'all” as much as Paula Deen. Even my wife, born and bred in the “Heart of Dixie,” whose family tree has Southern roots that extend beyond “The Recent Unpleasantness” all the way back to before the founding of the republic, says there is not one leaf on even the remotest branch of that tree that sounds or acts anything like Paula Deen. My wife thinks she's an insulting stereotype. And I think that's also the source of my itch. I knew a woman in East Tennessee who sounded just like average folks most of the time; until she went to New York or Chicago and wanted to get something out of a Yankee. Then she became more country than Dolly Parton's left shoe. She stopped just shy of wearing a festive frock and a big floppy hat and saying, “fiddle-dee-dee.” Makes me wonder about Paula's “moonlight and magnolia” personality as well. As the country folks say, there's just something that doesn't gee-haw about that woman.

Apparently, I'm not alone in that assessment. TV personality Clinton Kelly, who was crudely insulted by the butter queen on his own show, says, “I find her shtick more annoying than a hangnail.” He adds that upon meeting her, “her good old-fashioned ‘charm’ struck me as artificial.”

Even though I have seen her in person, I don't know her personally so I can't “hate” her. But neither can I stand to watch her, live or on TV.

Well, that's five, I guess. But I have to give honorable mentions to Rachael Ray.

Another “non-chef” celebrity chef, she has obviously gained the affection and approval of her peers. Anthony Bourdain simply adores her: "We know she can't cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So, what is she selling us? Really? She's selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough." And Emeril Lagasse once said, “[She] doesn't know anything about food. I would not put her on.” With endorsements like those, how can you go wrong?

I've seen her described as “a chattin' n' chewin' machine fueled by sheer annoyingness.”

What Giada's and Sandra's smiles and cleavage and Guy's spiky hair are to some people, Rachael's voice is to me. Two minutes' exposure and my ears begin to bleed. I've heard it described as a “hoarse bark, bark, bark that sends me up the kitchen wall. She sounds like a dog left out in the rain.” And I am among legions of intelligent, well-spoken people who absolutely cringe over her cutesy additions to the culinary lexicon. “Delish?” “Yum-o?” “Sammie?” I'm sorry, my sandwich does not need a nickname. And if you really want to piss off any worthwhile Italian cook, just call extra-virgin olive oil “EVOO.” That annoys the crap out of me whenever and wherever I see it used.

To paraphrase an old Dean Martin hit, everybody hates somebody sometime. I've had my share. A commenter on this blog once called me a delusional idiot for a stance I took, throwing in “demented” and “long-winded” for good measure. I was leaving one of my radio shows for an acting gig once and my listeners were being effusive with praise on my last broadcast. Except for one caller who ripped me a new one on the air and hung up with a sarcastic “goodbye and good riddance.” All I could say after he hung up was, “Why in the hell did he ever listen in the first place?”

And that's my advice to haters of any stripe. We live in the land of the free, after all, and if you don't like Giada or Bobby or Guy or Sandra or Paula or Rachael or Food Network in general, you're free to not watch. You notice I didn't say anything about personally “hating” anybody on my list. I just don't watch the ones I don't like. Similarly, I don't watch anything with “Housewives” or “Kardashian” in the title and that decision just fills my life with sunshine and happiness. I don't “hate” because I don't care.

William Shatner once got a lot of hate for his SNL “get a life!” diatribe. But you know what? It's pretty good advice.

Friday, April 22, 2016

A Culinary Education: Do You Really Need Culinary School?

I'm $100K Richer And I Can Still Make Risotto With My Eyes Closed

As an adjunct to our catering/personal chef service, we occasionally conduct cooking demos or “classes” for interested people in the community. We recently mentored a young person who expressed an interest in attending Johnson and Wales for a culinary education in pastry. That's great and we certainly don't discourage it, but it brings up the question of what exactly constitutes a “culinary education?”

I have a “culinary education.” It started more than fifty years ago when, at age seven, I mounted a step-stool in front of my mom's stove and learned how to cook bacon. By the time I was ten, I had added poached and scrambled eggs, grilled cheese sandwiches, boxed macaroni and cheese, instant mashed potatoes, frozen French fries, and Minute Rice to my expanding repertoire. I look back now and say, “Oh my god! Minute Rice?” But hey, it was the sixties. That was as close to scratch cooking as we came in those days. I can do a little better now. The point is I took the initiative to learn. And I've never stopped learning. A “culinary education” is never complete.

I demur a little when I'm introduced as a “chef.” I guess I qualify in the most liberal sense of the word because, yes, I can cook, I can create a menu, and I can supervise the running of a kitchen. And I bill as a “personal chef” because there's no such industry title as “personal cook,” although it would be a more accurate representation. I didn't go to culinary school. I am entirely self-taught. Like a lot of professionals, I started out as a teenager, busing tables and washing dishes. I had grandparents and aunts and uncles in the restaurant business and a mom who had the talent be a professional cook even if she wasn't one. With the notable exception of my ten-thumbed father, everybody in my family cooked and cooked well. So I had a lot of excellent teachers. And I carried on the family tradition: both of my sons can cook. When they were growing up, their mother was a multiple award-winning biscuit baker for a national fast food franchise. My older son was turning out scratch-made cakes when he was ten and he is now a successful restaurant manager, having worked his way up from McDonald's and through stints as a waiter and as a line cook. He never set foot in a formal classroom, but I'd say he has a fairly good “culinary education.”

The traditional European model for a “culinary education” is based on apprenticeship. Even the world's first “celebrity chef,” Marie-Antoine Carême, started out as a kitchen boy in a cheap Parisian chophouse. His heir apparent, Auguste Escoffier, began his celebrated career working as an apprentice at his uncle's restaurant in Nice at age thirteen. Jacques Pepin, Wolfgang Puck, and Heston Blumenthal are just a few of the many current European chefs who have no “formal culinary education.” But if you count the awards and the Michelin stars they've accumulated, you'd have to admit they've done okay without one.

Culinary schools are a relatively new phenomenon in the United States. In the 1870s, the Women's Educational Association of Boston created the Boston Cooking School, America's first school dedicated solely to a culinary education. You may recognize the name Fannie Farmer, one of the school's top students who later became its director and gained worldwide acclaim for her work on “The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book,” most often called “The Fannie Farmer Cookbook,” still in print and still in demand today.

There are currently about five hundred cooking schools of one sort or another in operation in the United States. One of the more famous, the Le Cordon Bleu school, modeled after the historic institution of the same name that opened in Paris in 1895, recently announced that it was shuttering all sixteen of its American campuses. According to Eater.com, “Le Cordon Bleu and other culinary institutes in the U.S. have come under increasing scrutiny for their outrageous tuition costs, high drop-out rates, and dismal job prospects. Eater analyzed the data this summer and found overwhelming evidence that culinary school isn't worth it. These for-profit centers have even been sued for their deceptive recruiting tactics and falsified rates of post-school job placement. Career Education Corporation [Le Cordon Bleu's parent company] settled one class action lawsuit from former students to the tune of $40 million.”

Now, if you want to talk about bang for your buck, consider this: a formal culinary education can set you back as much as $100K for a full four year program. That equals about twice what a graduate can expect to make, assuming they land a top job as an executive chef at a high end restaurant, a position that yields between $50K and $60K per year. If they don't quite make the top spot, they can expect to rake in between $35K and $40K as a sous chef. My young student can figure on slightly less, about $32K, as a pastry chef, and if a culinary grad winds up working the line, they'll get by on somewhere around $25K per year.

The biggest problem facing the industry right now is that prospective culinary students watch too much TV. They all want television contracts handed to them along with their diplomas so they can all be the next Bobby Flay. And it just doesn't work that way. None of them want to start in the trenches. They expect to start at the top. They blow $100K on an education that will net them $25K, if they're lucky, and often wind up walking away from the industry bitter, disillusioned, and deeply in debt.

The funny part is that most food service jobs don't require a degree of any kind. Check your newspaper listings: “experienced line cook wanted,” “hiring experienced sous chef,” “looking for experienced cook.” So go ahead and show up in your starched whites with your shiny blue ribbon diploma, but be aware that the grubby guy who's been prepping veg in a restaurant basement for the last four years probably has a better shot at the job than you do.

So what, exactly, do they teach you at culinary school? Technique. Lots and lots of fancy French technique. You'll be able to brunoise and julienne with the best of them after graduation because you'll be schooled and drilled in prep technique until you can do it in your sleep. You'll also learn more about butchery than you ever thought you'd need to know. Not only will you be able to efficiently hack your own steaks from a side of beef, you'll be able to disassemble a chicken blindfolded. You'll become proficient at sauces after they hammer the Mother Sauces and their derivatives into your skull. Same goes for making stocks. You'll learn the importance of mise en place, French for “everything in place,” an absolutely essential concept that stresses the necessity of organization throughout the cooking process. And you'll learn tips and tricks to enhance your creativity. But be aware: like acting, singing, dancing, and other creative endeavors, cooking is both a skill and an art. If you have raw talent and natural ability, going to culinary school will develop and enhance it, enabling you to attain greater success in the field. If, however, you simply suck in the kitchen, you'll still suck after cooking school, except you'll have the added burden of being broke. Star Trek's Jonathan Frakes once told me his acting degree (a BA from Penn State) was just an expensive piece of worthless paper. Either you are an actor or you aren't. Going to acting school won't turn somebody with no talent into an actor. Neither will going to cooking school make a chef out of a person who can't boil water. They might be able to pound enough technique into such a person as to enable them to function in a kitchen, but the art part, the creative process necessary to be truly successful, simply can't be taught.

So, do you really need to impoverish yourself (or, more likely, your parents) and mortgage your firstborn in order to acquire a decent, functional “culinary education?” Not really. Witness the aforementioned Pepin, Puck, and Blumenthal. Add Thomas Keller to the list. And Tom Colicchio. And Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay, Jose Andres, and the late Charlie Trotter. Ina Garten didn't go to culinary school and neither did Rachael Ray, but it doesn't seem to affect their TV ratings or earning potential. Many chefs, like Mario Batali, gave culinary school a shot, but dropped out. Not because they couldn't hack it, but because they found it too structured and limiting. Batali advises young people to “attend college while cooking in high-end restaurants; after graduating you'll have enough experience you won't need to go to culinary school.”

I say again, I'm not a “chef.” And I don't want to be one. I'm a very good cook and that's good enough for me. I can more than function at home cooking for friends and family and I can hold my own in my somewhat limited professional capacity. I don't cook with rarefied ingredients that I can't pronounce, but I defy you to beat my lasagne. When faced with a side of beef or pork, maybe I don't have the chops to break down my own chops, but I do know a great butcher and I can still strike fear into the hearts of chickens. I may not be as fast or fancy with my knife skills as a Le Cordon Bleu student, but my strip cuts and cube cuts are just as good thanks to the free “Knife Skills” class I went to at a nearby kitchen store and the follow-up online course I took for twenty dollars. The fifty bucks I spent on a “Basic Sauces” course at a local cooking school taught me everything I need to know to turn out a bechamel as well as any Johnson and Wales grad. Give me some herbs and aromatics and a chicken carcass and I'm your stock man. Learned that one on You Tube or someplace. Marcella Hazan taught me a kick ass tomato sauce – or at least one of her cookbooks did. Harold McGee's On Food and Cooking is a bible to nearly every professional chef. I have an autographed copy that Dr. McGee signed after I drove halfway across the state and shelled out a few bucks to sit in on one of his presentations. Amazon and my local bookstore are loaded with textbooks from the CIA and other institutions and my kitchen is as good a place to study them as theirs is. In fact, I've spent hundreds of hours studying with some of the most noted Italian chefs in the world. My extensive instruction at the hands of Mario Batali, Lidia Bastianich, Michael Chiarello, Giada De Laurentiss, Mary Ann Esposito, Rocco DiSpirito, David Rocco, and a host of others didn't cost me any more than the price of basic cable. I'm $100K richer and I can still make risotto with my eyes closed. And, of course, I've spent years learning from the very best: my mom, my grandmother and a host of family and friends in home and restaurant kitchens everywhere. So, am I a formally trained and educated “chef?” No, but I sure as hell can cook.

Bottom line, if you've got the talent, the dream, and the drive, but not the big bucks, here's how to make it in the food business without culinary school:

  1. Have passion. If you don't eat, sleep, and breathe food, don't bother. You can't half-ass it or make cooking a part-time hobby.
  2. Get your act together. Figure out where you want to go. Classic French, Italian, Hispanic, Asian, American, or wherever your passion leads. Then gather your resources and get into it. I am part Italian, but the only “foreign” language I was exposed to as a kid was French. It's a long story. But when I decided that Italian food was my passion, I boned up on Italy and learned Italian in order to better understand that culture and its cuisine.
  3. Study. Everything. Cookbooks, food magazines, local classes, online courses. Don't overlook the value of TV cooking shows. Just ignore the dreck and drivel that Food Network puts out and find some real cooking shows on PBS. You might still learn a little from some of the less egregiously stupid network shows like Chopped or Top Chef, but don't waste your time with the vast desert of idiotic food-themed game shows that the chowder heads at Scripps seem to think represent America's taste. Work especially on technique: that's 90% of a “formal” culinary education. Seek out knife skills classes and technique classes pertinent to your particular passion. Take a food safety course. Restaurants snap up ServSafe certified people practically on sight.
  4. Find a kitchen. Unless you just want to be a better home cook, at some point you're going to have to venture out into the bigger, badder culinary world. And, for cryin' out loud, be realistic in your expectations. Unless you're a real prodigy, you're not going to waltz into a fancy restaurant after watching Bobby Flay cook a steak on TV and land a head chef job right out of the box. Don't be afraid to be a dishwasher. I did it. I also hated it, but it got me exposed to a professional kitchen environment at an early, formative stage. Just being around a kitchen when I was a kid helped me understand what I was getting into. Wait tables. A lot of European culinary programs make their trainees work both sides of the house. Again, you may not be cooking, but you'll increase your food knowledge. Offer to stage (stazh) or apprentice in a local restaurant kitchen. Free labor for them, free education for you. Win-win. And once you land that kitchen job, work your ass off. Reality check: not every kitchen is “Hell's Kitchen,” but every kitchen is hot, sweaty, grueling, repetitive, and prone to long hours with short breaks and endless cycles of high-pressure intensity alternating with periods of mind-numbing boredom. Get used to it. Don't bitch and complain. You'll get marked as a whiner and made to suffer for it accordingly. Just keep your head down and chop the veg, stir the sauce, scale the fish, flip the burgers, sear the steaks, and......
  5. Don't Ever Stop Learning. Guess who learned something new today? Me. And I've been cooking for more than a half-century. Check your ego at the kitchen door because you will never know it all. Cuisines evolve, techniques change, equipment improves, innovations abound every day. And if you don't keep up, you'll be left behind. If you ever reach the point where you're no longer challenged, where you no longer care to be creative or innovative, where cooking no longer excites you or stirs your passion, just hop on the first delivery truck that pulls up to the back door and ask them if they need a driver.
Okay, now that I've pointed you in the right direction and saved you thousands of dollars, go out and get a job. Open a nice Italian restaurant. And if you look through the pass someday and see some cranky, gray-haired old fossil giving your waitstaff a hard time for mispronouncing “marinara” and “bruschetta,” just step out and shake my hand and say, “thanks.”

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Tossing Pizza Dough: Essential Technique or Elaborate Showmanship?

To Toss or Not to Toss, That Is the Question

If Hollywood is to be believed, every Italian pizza joint in the world has some guy in a white T-shirt tossing dough in the air. Anybody who watches TV or goes to the movies is familiar with the scene. Sometimes they play it for authenticity and sometimes for laughs. Lucille Ball's famous “Visitor from Italy” episode comes to mind. The ubiquity of this iconic image is such that most people believe it to be an essential part of the art of making pizza. But is it? Or is it mere showmanship?

To toss or not to toss, that is the question.

There is an entire culture built around throwing pizza dough. A World Pizza Championship is held annually, which, along with taste tests and speed trials, features freestyle pizza throwing competitions. The United States fields its very own pizza team and you can even purchase practice throwing dough should you decide you want to be a professional pizzaiolo. But as far as actual pizza making is concerned, is all that tossing and spinning and whirling and twirling really necessary? As is the case with every hotly debated global controversy, some say “yes,” some say “no,” and some say “maybe.”

Among the “yes” crowd, the assertion stands that spinning those flattened circles of dough in the air helps ensure the correct amount of moisture. They aver that airflow over the dough's surface dries it out just enough to make it less sticky and easier to handle. And the perfect amount of airflow makes for a perfectly crispy crust.

World Pizza Champion Tony Gemignani is quick to tell you that there's more to tossing dough than just the “cool” factor. He says throwing the dough into the air is extremely important in ensuring that you get a good crust. First, he notes, it's the best way to get the perfect size you want. The second benefit, he says, involves achieving optimum consistency with thicker outside edges surrounding a thinner center. And most importantly, he agrees, is the airflow that dries the dough for a perfectly crispy crust.

Another guy who knows a bit about pizza, former “Stuff Yer Face” employee Mario Batali, also believes hand-tossed dough makes the best crust. Mario says tossing is the most efficient way to stretch out the dough without applying too much pressure or potentially tearing through it with your fingers. It’s a skill worth practicing at home, he says, even though he admits “it is a little guido…”

The “maybe” people sort of agree with some of these principles, but they debate the technique. The middle-of-the-roaders tend to think that tossing is “okay,” but you don't have to go through all those elaborate acrobatics to achieve the best result. Just a little lift is fine. You can spin up your dough without ever having it gain an altitude of more than a few inches off your hands. According to these folks, the rest is just theater.

Then there are the real naysayers, the pizza makers who believe the whole tossing and throwing and spinning routine is completely unnecessary. Among this group are some pretty heavy hitters, including Chef Gaetano Fazio, one of the masters of traditional Neapolitan pizza. As a renowned instructor in the art of pizza making and as the proprietor of Pizzeria Rosticceria Da Gaetano in Ischia, Fazio relegates tossing and spinning dough over one's head to something made famous in the movies and on TV and only done on “fantasy” pizzas. Like many traditionalists, he believes the stretching, pulling, pressing and kneading of the pizza dough should only be done with the hands and then only very carefully. Like women, Fazio says, the dough should be handled gently.

One of Naples’ greatest pizzaioli, Antonio Starita of Starita a Materdei, also disapproves of flying pizza. When asked about pizza tossing, Antonio just shakes his head, waggles his hand a little, and says “ mai” (never), explaining that rough handling ruins pizza dough.

Still another pizza expert, third-generation Neapolitan pizzaiolo Rosario Granieri, who runs New York's Rossopomodoro in Greenwich Village, weighs in with his opinion that pizza tossing is not even Italian in its origin. Granieri dismisses the practice as an “American show."

When you break it down, it looks like the “pro tossing” crowd consists primarily of Italian-Americans while those aligned against the practice are mostly Italians, generally Neapolitans, the folks who invented the modern version of pizza in the first place. So who are you gonna believe?

Personally, I'm a more of a “no.” But my Italian roots are northern rather than southern and they were transplanted to Canada rather than to the U.S., so what do I know? I only have experience to guide me. In that experience, I use a traditional dough recipe of flour, water, salt, and yeast. When I can get my hands on Caputo or some other quality “00” flour, I use that. Otherwise, I use King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose flour. Depending on my mood and the circumstances, I make the dough by hand, in a KitchenAid mixer, or in a food processor. When it's done, I portion the dough out, roll it into balls, flatten the balls slightly into disks, and let them rest until they're ready to use. If the dough doesn't rest and rise a little, you'll never get it to stretch.

When it comes time to make pizza, I plop the dough disk down onto a lightly-floured surface and flatten it out further using my fingertips and turning the dough quarter turns as I work. After I get it flattened and shaped a little, I'll pick it up and work it gently over the backs of my closed fists, tossing it maybe an inch in the air as I turn it. That's as much altitude as it gets – or needs. Then I return it to the work surface and finish shaping it into the desired size and thickness by pressing outward from the center of the circle until I get a nice thin center and a thicker perimeter with a defined cornicione. From there, I top it, bake it, and serve it. Out of the hundreds of pizze (that's the correct plural of “pizza”) I've made, nobody has ever complained or sent one back, so I must be doing something right.

One thing upon which nearly everybody agrees; don't ever use a rolling pin on your pizza dough. You see recipes in cookbooks and on TV all the time telling you to "roll out your dough" for "a perfectly thin crust." Uffa! I'm here to warn you that Dante has a special circle all warmed up for cooks who use a blunt instrument to crush the very life and vitality out of pizza dough. Those atrocious recipes are directed at rank amateurs and home cooks who can barely boil water. Use your hands! If God had wanted you to bludgeon pizza dough, he'd have attached rolling pins to your wrists. 

Toss or don't toss. It's up to you. The debate will continue regardless. Rosario Granieri doesn't necessarily think you should avoid places that toss their dough, he just thinks there are other more useful kitchen skills to learn. Like, maybe, making decent pizza in the first place. Oh, and by the way; be careful you don't accidentally try and bake up any of that rubber practice dough. It would make really nasty pizza. Hmmm.....perhaps that explains the pizza I got at that chain place the other night.