How to Make the Best Scrambled Eggs

As a follow-up to my surprisingly popular article on “The Best Way to Cook Bacon,” allow me, please, to expound upon the delicious glories of the perfectly scrambled egg.

Without getting into the debate on which came first, let’s just say that eggs have been around for a long, long time. People who know about such things say that wild fowl were domesticated as early as 3200 BC and that they were laying eggs for the Chinese as early as 1400 BC. In Europe, people were reaping the rewards of domesticated hens around 600 BC. There are no precise records detailing whom the first person was to pick up the hard-shelled ovoid sphere that dropped from the nether regions of a chicken and decided that it might be something good to eat, but, following that brave soul’s example, most people today do, indeed, eat eggs produced by the chicken, or Gallus domesticus.

With its thirteen essential nutrients all prepackaged in a convenient “to go” container, some consider the egg to be nature’s perfect food. Advertising people have dubbed it “The Incredible, Edible Egg,” probably because promoting “The Incredible, Inedible Egg,” while more alliterative, would be self-defeating.

Be that as it may, eggs are enormously versatile. You can fry, poach or bake them. You can cook them in the shell and turn them into omelets, frittatas, quiches and strata casseroles. As ingredients, you can use them in cakes and cheesecakes, cookies, custards, meringues, pie fillings, soufflés and even pastries.

Best of all, you can scramble them.

I have it on good authority that God likes his eggs scrambled. [Hey! Careful with the lightning bolts!]

But if you’ve ever eaten at a Waffle House, Denny’s or IHOP, you’ll know that not just any idiot can scramble eggs, although many of them are employed by these establishments to do so.

No, there’s a little more involved in the perfect scrambled egg than breaking an egg into a pan, mixing it all up and frying it to within an inch of its life before dumping it onto a plate next to a couple of slices of overcooked or undercooked bacon. Any doofus in a stained white shirt wearing a greasy apron and a funny paper hat can do that. (See the aforementioned establishments.)

If you want your scrambled eggs to turn out the way G…..errr…You Know Who…likes them, simply follow the following procedures.

First of all, mise en place. Now, if you think I just said something dirty in French, then you didn’t read my article on having everything prepared and in place before you start cooking. Lay out your equipment, starting with a non-stick frying pan of appropriate size. A ten-inch pan works well for four eggs. Adjust up or down accordingly. I know, a lot of people don’t like non-stick surfaces, but I’m just saying……

You’ll also need a small prep bowl of some sort, a small to medium metal or glass mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, preferably one with a flat edge, and an ordinary balloon whisk. Culinary stores these days are overstocked with a vast variety of specialized whisking devices, some of which look like they might do double duty as S&M accessories. They supposedly aerate better or blend better or whatever, but mostly, they just cost more. A plain old whisk works just fine. As with many things, it’s all in how you use it.

Next, set your eggs out a few minutes in advance so they can come to room temperature. (I was going to say “lay” your eggs out, but I decided not to.) Room temperature eggs whisk to higher volumes, but I’m sure you already knew that.

Measure out some milk and let it come to room temperature, too. Use about a teaspoon of milk per egg. Skim-milk, low-fat milk, or water can be used in place of whole milk but the creamy texture of the finished product is reduced.

Have a salt cellar, shaker, box or whatever you use at the ready, preferably containing kosher salt. Why kosher salt? The larger grains are easier to handle when cooking and they also draw moisture out of foods more effectively than other salts. Although all kitchen salts are at least 97 ½ percent sodium chloride, the finer grain of common table salt makes it “saltier” than kosher salt. A single teaspoon of table salt contains more salt than a tablespoon of kosher or sea salt.

Finally, measure out about a tablespoon of unsalted butter. Okay, before you start throwing things, you can use regular salted butter. Most cooks prefer unsalted because of the ability to control the salt content of the prepared food. Better that the end result be a little under salted than over salted. If you must use salted butter, just use less salt elsewhere. And for G…..errr…Heaven’s …. sake, use good old real honest-to-goodness natural, I’m from Wisconsin and I ought to know, butter. If you really think that a combination of water, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, salt, whey, vegetable mono and diglycerides, polyglycerol esters, soy lecithin, lactic acid, vitamin A (palmitate), beta carotene and artificial flavors can ever be made to taste like butter, then we probably need to be having another discussion entirely. Think of it like this: have you ever heard of butter promising to taste like margarine? Hmmm?

Now the fun starts! (Yeah, I know, “Finally.”)

Carefully break the eggs, one at a time, into your prep bowl. Why? Glad you asked. It’s hard to examine an egg while it’s still in the shell. On the off chance that you’ve got an “off” egg, you’d rather find out about it before you dump it in with a bunch of good eggs, wouldn’t you? Also, it’s easier to fish a little errant shell fragment out of a little bowl containing one egg than it is to get the same tiny fragment out of a big bowl as it swims around among four or six or eight eggs. As you check out each egg, transfer it to an appropriate size metal or glass mixing bowl.

Add the milk and a pinch of salt to the eggs and whisk together, beating vigorously for about two minutes. Use an elliptical motion. If you’re going round and round with your whisk, you’re just stirring. Whisk until the yolks and the whites are all a nice bright yellow and completely blended together. If you don’t have a whisk, a fork will do, but a whisk will do better. Alternatively, you can mix the eggs, milk and salt in a blender for about twenty seconds, but why would you go to all that trouble? If you do, be sure to allow the mixture to set for a couple of minutes to let the resulting foam settle.

Now, put your tablespoon of butter into the non-stick frying pan and heat over medium heat. Butter burns more easily than the partially hydrogenated vegetable oil stuff, so keep the heat at medium and keep a watchful eye on the pan. When the butter is liquefied, swirl it around in the pan to thoroughly coat the bottom and then add the egg mixture.

Don’t jump right in with the wooden spoon and start stirring things up. Let the eggs set just a little. Then, at the first sign of setting, use your flat wooden spoon to push the outer edges of the eggs in toward the center of the pan while, at the same time, tilting the pan to distribute the still runny parts of the eggs. Continue this action as the eggs continue to set. Use your spoon to break apart any large pieces as they form.

After a minute or so, there won’t be any more runny parts to push toward the center. Now’s the time to flip all the eggs over and allow them to continue cooking for another thirty seconds to a minute, depending on how firm you want them.

Notice I said “firm.” At this point, your eggs should be nice and creamy and soft. Some people like them a little less soft and creamy, and that’s okay. Keep the heat down and the stirring up until the eggs get to where you want them. The difference between “firm” and “overcooked” is a matter of time and temperature.

Actually, heat is the key to the whole process. This is another of those instances where low and slow is the way to go. If you’ve ever been served a plate of scrambled eggs that were tough, watery and brown around the edges, they were cooked by somebody in a hurry.

When you crank up the heat to get your eggs to cook faster, they can go from cooked to overcooked in about five seconds.

A chemical change occurs when the eggs first begin to set, which happens when they’ve reached a temperature of about 145°. They’re actually edible at this point, albeit a little runny. Keeping them moving around in the pan maintains the cooking temperature while allowing the texture to firm up gradually. Boosting the heat – or not keeping the eggs moving – allows the temperature of the eggs to reach 165°, where the protein in the eggs undergoes a second chemical change, resulting in a tighter protein matrix. This change squeezes water out of the eggs, resulting in tough, watery eggs. The browning represents the beginnings of caramelization – or, since protein and amino acids are involved, it may be a Maillard reaction, I’m not sure. Either way, your eggs are burned and taste nasty.

If you have a real phobia about a frying pan producing dried out, burned up eggs, you actually can use a bain-marie, or double boiler, to cook scrambled eggs. Again, I don’t know why you would, but you can.

The cooking method is the same; it’s just the cooking medium that’s different. Cooking scrambled eggs in a double boiler ensures that the eggs won’t brown and thus is considered an “old classical kitchen” method for turning out perfectly cooked eggs. But it’s really time consuming, unless you have one of those fancy cooktops that boils water in 90 seconds.

You can also scramble your eggs in the oven by putting all the ingredients in a glass or metal bowl and alternately cooking and whisking and cooking and whisking and cooking and whisking…..until the desired consistency is achieved.

This method also applies to [deep breath] microwaved scrambled eggs. Just mix up your egg mixture, put in a microwave-safe bowl and zap it for about thirty seconds. Take it out, stir it up, nuke it again, take it out, stir it up, nuke it again…. until the eggs are done to your liking – or until the resultant rubbery substance can be molded into playthings for small children and pets.

And if you’re a person of the Orthodox Jewish persuasion, all bets are off because you’re not supposed to be mixing milk or butter with your eggs, in which case, I suppose you can use water and [shudder] margarine.

Now, if you haven’t already done so, go look up and read my article on how to cook bacon (unless you’re Jewish) and head for the kitchen. Maybe I’ll write about hash browns or toast next.

Buon appetito!

"Worst Cooks in America?"

Okay, I gotta ask; “Where do they get these people??!!”

I'm talking about Food Network's “Worst Cooks in America.” In case you're not familiar with the show, a couple of pro chefs – this season it's Anne Burrell and Robert Irvine – gather a group of sixteen people who, from all indications, have trouble boiling water and split them up into two teams. Anne takes eight and Robert takes eight and the culinary mayhem begins as they attempt to turn “kitchen zeroes into kitchen heroes.” At the end of the ordeal, two contestants will theoretically have learned enough to prepare a restaurant quality meal for a panel of judges. The one who makes the best meal is the winner.

This is the program's second season. When it debuted last year, it was suggested that perhaps there were some ringers in the mix who just wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. But the producers insisted that these folks were for real. Attempts to conceal knife skills and other talents would be easy to spot, they said. We were assured that the show is on the up and up.

So I ask again, “Where do they get these people??!!

I literally cringed my way through the season premiere the other night. Now, I'm probably not the best one to comment on the whole “can't cook” situation. There were already two generations of restaurant cooks and chefs perched in my family tree when I started cooking at age seven. Most of the relatives who weren't pros were exceptional home cooks. I learned early and I learned from the best.

So when a contestant presented her “skill drill” dish to the chefs and it turned out to be a “quesidilla” made of squeeze cheese over bologna and crackers on a tortilla, I was incredulous. I mean, my kid was making spice cakes from scratch when he was ten, and here's a twenty-seven year-old woman putting canned cheese on bologna and crackers?

Watching the chicken butchery was painful. Okay, it's not something every casual cook can do, but I thought pretty much every human being knew which side of the bird the breasts were on. (I'll give you a hint lady: they're on the same side as yours are. The front!!)

And I have to admit after more than a half-century of life that I have never heard chicken breasts called “boobs” before. At least that contestant – a former model -- was on the right track.

Then there was the woman who invented the culinary equivalent of mustard gas by throwing her chicken into a bone dry pan, dumping about a pound of cayenne pepper on it, and cranking up the fire until everybody in the room was coughing and gagging from the fumes. Her rationale was, “If I add a lot of flavor, it might cover up the fact that I don't know what I'm doing.”

Two people working side by side took the opposite extreme and put so much oil in their pans that they managed to set them on fire one right after the other.

Another woman tried sauteing her vegetables in about a quart of oil. “I never know how much to use.” Needless to say, the dish was not a success.

Robert asked one guy if he was cremating his food just for fun.

I nearly choked when I saw the woman attempting a quiche into which she dumped a literal handful of whole black peppercorns.

I felt sorry for the husband of the woman who admitted that in twenty-seven years of marriage, she hadn't cooked twenty-seven meals. She also talked about how her food “taste-ez.” Not how it “tastes” but how it “taste-ez.” However, since she is a teacher maybe I've been saying it wrong all these years.

The same woman chased her salmon all over the pan with a spatula while crying, “Turn! Turn!” It's okay, honey. I haven't taught my food to turn over on command either. When Robert refused to taste the blackened results, her advice to him was, “Turn it over and get some from the bottom.”

Speaking of turning, one fellow tried an advanced technique. He was attempting to flip whatever he was cooking by putting a plate over the top of the pan and then turning the pan over onto the plate. Good technique. I've done it from time to time. But I also know what a pot holder is. He didn't. Ooops! Little hot there, buddy?

Then there was the darling of the Centers for Disease Control who shocked Anne – and anybody else with half a brain – by thoroughly fondling his raw chicken and then moving right along to handling everything else in sight without having washed his hands!

My absolute favorite moment was watching Robert's face as he observed one member of his team pulling a chicken apart with his hands because he said it was easier for him than using a knife.

The unsuccessful auditioner who left the imprint of a steam iron burned into an attempt at grilled cheese. The guy who had no idea how to tell if his chicken was done. (It wasn't.) The woman who spent several minutes examining a pepper mill trying to figure out how to use it. Okay, it's fun to laugh at all this, but it's sad, too. One contestant admitted that her kids eat peanut butter and jelly nearly every night because she can't cook. Another, the former model, lamented her weight gain and blamed it on her inability to prepare anything other than junk food.

And there were a few personal triumphs. One woman, a vegetarian, had never even touched a chicken before, much less cut one up. Not only did she do it, she did it pretty well.

I realize it takes a great deal of courage to admit to your shortcomings and then stand up and display them before a national audience. For that, all these people are to be admired. They are to be applauded, too, for their desire to improve themselves.

But I'm still left with the question I started out with. And I'm still truly seeking the answer. I'm not trying to be a smart-ass. I'm really not. As one who has never faced the problem, I am honestly perplexed by it. I struggle because I can't put myself in their shoes and I can't comprehend people who are unable to do something that comes to me as naturally as breathing.

I understand that not everybody went to culinary school. I know that not everybody studies food and cooking the way I do. My coffee table is littered with copies of Cook's Illustrated and La Cucina Italiana, there are dozens of cookbooks in my kitchen, and there's a 300 page textbook from the Culinary Institute of America on my nightstand.

But cooking is a basic skill. You learn to walk, you learn to talk, you learn to read, you learn to write, you learn to cook. So how did it happen that these sixteen people – among them a teacher, two nurses, an engineer, a speech pathologist, and a guy pursuing his PhD – managed to skip such an essential step in their basic education? Since eating closely follows breathing on the list of things you have to do in order to stay alive, it would seem to me that cooking should be the next thing on the list. And yet there they are. And thousands more like them.

I mean, there's “cooking” and then there's “COOKING,” you know? These days, I can turn out an eight course Italian meal from scratch without a second thought. But there was a lot of Minute Rice and brown 'n serve rolls on the menu forty years ago. You learn as you go. But if you don't even go, how are you ever going to learn?

I hope these sixteen “Worst Cooks in America” are inspired by the experience to become, if not the best cooks in America, better cooks, at the very least. Moreover, I hope that the thousands like them in the viewing audience will also be similarly inspired. Even if they never achieve professional proficiency, mastery of box mixes and canned products would be a big improvement over squeeze cheese on bologna and crackers.

I've been tooting the trumpet for years: Everybody should know how to cook. Stop feeding your kids a steady diet of fast food. Show 'em what real food is and where it comes from. Don't pamper them by cooking everything yourself. Make them help. You held out your arms to them when they took those first wobbly steps toward self-sufficiency. Now guide those steps into the kitchen. Demand that cooking and home economics courses be ramped up in your schools. And drag the boys into them, kicking and screaming if necessary. If you consider yourself to be like one of the sixteen and you can't get Robert Irvine or Anne Burrell to give you cooking lessons, get them on your own. If nothing else, watch cooking shows on TV and hang out with friends and relatives who can cook. You'll be amazed at what you can learn by watching.

There should be no “worst” cooks in America. There's no reason or excuse for it. There should only be good cooks and better cooks. Not good for television, maybe, but better for society.

In Search of Real Italian Tomatoes

(This post is one of a series on real Italian ingredients. For more information on identifying authentic Italian food products, visit http://www.trueitalianfood.it/.)

Let's look at another staple of Italian cuisine, tomatoes. Many people think that Caesar ate tomato sauce. Not true. Tomatoes were not introduced into Italian food culture until the late 17^th or early 18^th century. When the great explorers first brought them back from the New World, Europeans believed tomatoes to be poisonous. As ornamentals they were okay to look at, but because they are botanically members of the nightshade family, nobody was brave enough to actually eat them! Happily, things changed.

Now, tomatoes are tomatoes, right? They're round and red and grow on vines and you make spaghetti sauce out of them, right? Wrong. If you want an authentic Italian taste from an authentic Italian product, look for tomatoes that are specifically labeled as “San Marzano” tomatoes.

San Marzano tomatoes are a delicate, thin skinned variety of plum tomato grown in an area near the Italian village of San Marzano sul Sarno, which is located southeast of Naples in the fertile valley of Mt. Vesuvius. The DOP* certification area for San Marzano tomatoes actually involves 39,540 acres in three of the provinces of Campania, including a rough triangle formed by Salerno, Naples and a small part of Avellino.

There are numerous myths and legends regarding the origins of the San Marzano tomato, such as the historically ridiculous premise that the seeds were a gift to the King of Naples from the King of Peru back in 1770. Although it's true that tomatoes probably did originate in or around Peru, the little fly in the ointment here is that Peru was firmly and somewhat brutally under Spanish control in 1770. There was nothing even remotely resembling a “king” of Peru by that time. But the story is told.

San Marzanos are thought to be a hybrid of three different varieties including the King Umberto. (The other two, the Fiaschella, and the Fiascona, have faded into agricultural insignificance.) They started catching on around the turn of the 20^th century. Ferruccio Zago, a professor at the University of Naples, writing in Nozioni di Orticultura (Concepts Of Horticulture) in 1920, noted, “The peeled tomato industry is a source of pride for Campania. People use a variety known as san marzano.... The plant can bear up to 10–12 bunches of fruit.... The skin has a bright red color and is easily removable, an indispensable characteristic for preparing peeled tomatoes. The pulp is dense and only slightly sugary in flavor....”

It is said that San Marzano tomatoes owe their unique flavor to the rich volcanic soil in which they are grown. They have a deep red color and an unmatchable sweet taste. They are sought after and preferred by cooks and chefs around the world as the absolute best tomato for use in a tomato sauce.

No, you won't find them fresh in your neighborhood supermarket. Tender little fruits that they are, (and yes, tomatoes are fruits, not vegetables) it's hard enough for grocers to import fresh tomatoes from Florida or California, let alone Italy. So off to the canned food section we go.

There are dozens of brands of San Marzano tomatoes available to American consumers. The tomatoes packed by Cento are the ones I usually use, mostly because they are the most widely marketed in my area, but I've purchased other good brands as well, depending on availability. Brand is not really a consideration. It's the variety that counts.

Bear in mind that San Marzanos are only one of several varieties of plum tomato. Don't be fooled by labels that say “Italian” or “Italian-style” tomatoes. Most authentic San Marzano tomatoes will be identified as such and will bear the DOP seal on the label. Most will also carry authentication from the Consorzio di Tutela del Pomodoro San Marzano - Agro Nocerino Sarnese, a consortium dedicated to the protection of San Marzano tomatoes. There are a few growers who object to paying for the DOP and Conzorio stamps and choose to market their produce without the certifications. I've never encountered any, although at least one such company ships its unstamped San Marzano tomatoes directly to the North American market. I can't say whether or not the seal makes a difference. But the variety definitely does.

San Marzano tomatoes have the distinction of being the only tomato permitted for use on Vera Pizza Napoletana (True Neapolitan Pizza) as defined by the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana. If you want real authentic Italian tomatoes, these are your babies. If you don't care, buy Hunts or Del Monte.

While we're right there in the neighborhood, let's take a look at the tomato paste.

When I was a kid, my uncle told me that tomato paste was the stuff they used to hold tomatoes together. Fortunately, I was a smart kid. Tomato paste is actually just that – a thick paste produced by cooking and reducing tomatoes down to a thick, rich concentrate.

You'll see lots of little cans of tomato paste on store shelves. Some sound really Italian. One such can is labeled “tomato paste product” made from “Roma style tomatoes” and containing “Italian herbs.” Oh, and catch the ingredient list: “Tomato puree (tomato paste, water), high fructose corn syrup, salt, dried onions, partially hydrogenated vegetable oil (soybean and/or cottonseed), spices, hydrolyzed corn gluten, soy & wheat gluten proteins, grated Romano cheese made from cow's milk (cultured milk, salt, enzymes), garlic, citric acid, yeast, soy flour.” Wow! You think this is going in my tomato sauce?

Actually, I prefer my tomato paste in a tube rather than a can. Easier to use, easier to store. My choice is Amore Italian Tomato Paste. Now, Amore is not DOP or IGP or anything of the sort. But the company's literature says the tubes contain “fresh Italian ingredients,” and the ingredients listed are tomato paste and salt. So is it certifiably authentic Italian? No. Is it kind of Italian? Yeah, probably. Is it better than the chemistry set in a can? Definitely!

Actually, Amore, like many, many other manufacturers, labels its goods as a “product of Italy.” What does this mean? It kind of means “caveat emptor” because it only indicates that either some component of the overall product comes from Italy or that the processing and/or assembly are done in Italy or even that the company's facilities are located in Italy. Take olive oil. You can have olives that are grown in Greece, bottles that are made in Germany, bottlecaps produced in Spain, and labels printed in France. As long as they are all assembled in a factory in Italy, the finished product can legitimately bear the phrase “product of Italy” on the label. Not saying that's the case with Amore – because they do make some pretty good stuff – but keep that idea in mind when you buy. A “product of Italy” is always my second choice. DOP or IGP stamped products always rank first.

*[DOP (Denominazione di Origine Protetta) and IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) are the Italian translations of the EU's Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) and Protected Geographical Indication (PGI).]

In Search of Real Italian Cheese

(This post is one of several dealing with real Italian ingredients. For more information on identifying authentic Italian food products, visit http://www.trueitalianfood.it.)

There are more than 400 varieties of cheese produced across the Italian peninsula. At least 34 have been accorded DOP* status and several are commonly available on American supermarket shelves. King among these cheeses is Parmigiano-Reggiano, usually referred to by the common appellation “Parmesan.”

How can you even consider Italian food without Parmesan cheese, right? And to 99.6% of Americans, this means reaching for the grated stuff in the green cans.

According to the biggest manufacturer of this cheese-like substance, their product is “100% real grated Parmesan. No fillers. No fillers means we use only real Parmesan cheese, not imitations or substitutes. Aged 6 months.” But then you take a look at the ingredients listed elsewhere on the label and you find “Parmesan Cheese (Pasteurized Part-Skim Milk, Salt, Less than 2% of Enzymes, Cheese Culture, Cellulose Powder to Prevent Caking, Potassium Sorbate to Protect Flavor).” This stuff is not even remotely related to authentic Italian cheese.

What Americans refer to as “Parmesan cheese” is produced only in a specific area of Italy; the area around Parma. The word “Parmesan” is actually the French word for that area. It is also the generic term under which cheap imitation cheeses may legally be sold in the United States and elsewhere.

The only true, authentic, Italian “Parmesan cheese” is Parmigiano-Reggiano. It is a DOP designated product produced only in the provinces of Parma, Reggio Emilia, Modena, and certain restricted areas of Bologna and Lombardia. It is made from raw, whole cow's milk rather than the “pasteurized part-skim” product used by cheap imitators. The only additive permitted in Parmigiano-Reggiano is salt. There are no chemical preservatives employed to “protect flavor” or “prevent caking.” It must be aged for a minimum of 12 months. The really good stuff is aged from 24 to 36 months. So how does the crap in a can proclaim itself as “real Parmesan” and then admit in the next line that it is only aged for 6 months?

Now, real Parmigiano-Reggiano is considered a “part skim milk” product because of the way it is processed. The cows are milked twice a day; morning and evening. The evening's milk is left in large shallow vats to allow the cream to separate before being mixed with the whole milk from the following morning's milking. Since this natural separation process constitutes a form of “skimming,” it may be said that the resulting product is a “part skim mixture.” But that's where the resemblance ends.

Cow's that produce Parmigiano-Reggiano are completely grass fed. No silage or concentrated feed of any kind. Although the milk from these cows is heated during processing, it is not pasteurized. Only natural whey culture and calf rennet are allowed as starters. American cows eat a steady diet of processed feed and cheese imitators use manufactured enzymes and non-animal rennet.

The curds for real Parmigiano-Reggiano are hand cut to a fine, rice-like consistency, allowing for more effective drainage. Imitation Parmesan is moister because the machine-cut curds tend to be larger and drain less effectively. Whereas real Parmigiano-Reggiano is allowed to drain and compact naturally, American Parmesan is mechanically pressed.

As noted, true Parmigiano-Reggiano is brined in a Mediterranean sea salt solution. The cheese is produced in wheels that weigh approximately 80 pounds. American imitation cheese usually comes in 20 pound wheels. Because the size difference matters in terms of salt saturation during the brining process, real Parmigiano-Reggiano contains up to two-thirds less salt than its cheap imitators.

Finally, the cheese is aged. The aging process reduces moisture levels and allows the cheese's distinctive crystalline structure and crumbly texture to form. By law, Parmigiano-Reggiano must be aged for at least a year before it can be sold, and it is usually aged for 24 months. Some varieties are aged for as long as three years. Imitation cheese is often aged for just six to ten months.

Cheap Parmesan is usually a milky white color. Real Parmigiano-Reggiano is yellowish or straw-colored. The real cheese is dry and hard textured and possesses a distinctive buttery, nutty, fruity flavor. Cheap processed cheeses are often moist and slightly bitter.

The rind on each and every wheel of good quality Parmigiano-Reggiano is imprinted with the words “ Parmigiano-Reggiano” as well as the production plant's number and the month and year of production. The Consorzio Parmigiano-Reggiano allows lesser quality cheeses to be sold, but the markings are either struck through with lines or crosses or are removed altogether. The seal of the Denominazione di Origine Protetta and either the seal or the words Consorzio Parmigiano-Reggiano appear on any and all authentic Italian cheeses. If you don't see 'em, you're buying a cheap substitute.

The real stuff doesn't come in a can, it comes in a wedge, which usually weighs in at around a pound. Look for the seals and, more importantly since some stores hand cut wedges from whole wheels, look for some part of the words “Parmigiano-Reggiano” on the rind. They have to be there in order for the cheese to be the real thing.

Besides Parmigiano-Reggiano, several other authentic Italian cheeses are available in supermarkets including Asiago, Gorgonzola, Pecorino Romano, Provolone, Fontina, Taleggio, and Grana Padano. These are all DOP cheeses and should be identified as such. Many are domestically produced, so examine the labels carefully.

Asiago is a cow's milk cheese produced in the town of Asiago, province of Vicenza, in Italy's Veneto region. Known as “Asiago d'Allevo,” it assumes different characteristics according to its aging. The youngest, freshest variety, Asiago Pressato (pressed Asiago), is aged only 4 to 6 weeks and has a soft, elastic rind and a sweet, delicate flavor. Asiago Mezzano (middle Asiago) is aged from 3 to 8 months and is a compact, straw-colored cheese with a sweetish taste. Asiago Vecchio (old Asiago) ages for 9 to18 months and is a hard, straw colored cheese with a slightly bitter taste. Asiago Stravecchio (very-old Asiago) has been aged more than 18 months and is a very hard, grainy, amber-colored cheese with a bitter and spicy taste.

Pecorino cheese comes from sheep's milk, so if the package you're looking at says “moo,” put it back. There are several DOP protected varieties of Pecorino: Pecorino Toscano, Pecorino Siciliano, Pecorino Sardo, Pecorino di Filiano, and Pecorino Romano. By far the most common on American store shelves is Pecorino Romano. It has a dark straw-colored rind with a white or light straw-colored interior. It is a fragrant cheese with a slightly spicy flavor.

Gorgonzola is Italy's most popular blue cheese. Produced in specified areas of Piemonte and Lombardia, Gorgonzola is made from either cow or goat milk and is aged for 3 or 4 months. The crumbly, white cheese with a blue-veined pattern gets firmer and develops more flavor as it ripens, ranging from soft to firm and from mild to sharp. The goat's milk variety can also be quite salty.

There are two protected varieties of Provolone, Provolone Valpadana and Provolone del Monaco. These varieties come in dolce (mild or sweet) and piccante (spicy) forms. A semi-hard cow's milk cheese, it is a light straw-color and sometimes contains small aeration holes.

Fontina is a cow's milk cheese that has been produced in the Aosta Valley near the Italian Alps since the 12^th century. It has a thin, compact brown rind with a soft, elastic interior containing characteristic aeration holes scattered throughout. Fontina is a rich, ivory-colored cheese with a sweet, delicate flavor.

Tallegio is a semi-soft, washed rind cheese produced originally in the caves of Val Tallegio. It is an aromatic cheese with a surprisingly mild flavor that finishes with an unusual fruity tang. The thin rind is a rosy color and is studded with salt crystals. The cheese itself varies in color from white to straw yellow with a few tiny aeration holes.

Grana Padano is often found on store shelves and is frequently substituted for Parmigiano-Reggiano because of its similar flavor and texture. It is produced in a similar manner but over a much wider area of Italy. It is a hard cheese made from cow's milk. It has a grainy texture – hence the “Grana” portion of its name – that breaks off into flakes when cut. It has a fragrant aroma and a milder, more delicate flavor than Parmigiano-Reggiano. Grana Padano is sold in three different ripening stages. Grana Padano is aged 9 to 16 months and has creamy texture that is only slightly grainy. Grana Padano oltre 16 mesi is aged, as the name implies, for more than 16 months. It is somewhat crumblier with a more pronounced taste. Grana Padano Riserva is aged for more than 20 months and is grainy, crumbly and quite full flavored. It is considered closest in character to its more noted cousin.

Let's talk about mozzarella and ricotta cheeses. All mozzarella cheese is not created equal. And it's not all created Italian. If you want real, authentic Italian mozzarella, look for the only one that is DOP protected, Mozzarella di Bufala Campana. Good luck. It's not impossible to find, but since there are not a lot of herds of water buffalo grazing in American pastures, most of what passes for mozzarella in this country comes from cows.

Technically, this makes it a fiore di latte, but it falls under the general category of mozzarella. There are some good fresh cow's milk mozzarellas in supermarkets, but they are not authentic Italian. One thing that is most definitely not in any way authentic is the hard, waxy blocks of part-skim “mozzarella” cheese-like product found on store shelves and its packaged shredded counterpart, usually found hanging above the blocks. But it's what most Americans have come to accept as mozzarella, so there it is. As I said, I have found Mozzarella di Bufala in the supermarket, but it's rare. If you have to substitute, at least use a good, fresh cow's milk mozzarella. It's the stuff that comes in moist little balls, not hard dry bricks.

Ricotta is made from the whey of either sheep, cow, water buffalo, or goat's milk and is generally the literally “recooked” byproduct of mozzarella production, so what you'll find on store shelves is usually closely related to whatever mozzarella is predominant there. Nearly all American ricotta is made from cow's milk. There are a couple of DOP ricottas – Ricotta di Bufala Compana and Ricotta Romana – but I've never seen any on common store shelves.

The supermarket where I do most of my shopping has both real Parmigiano-Reggiano and the cheap substitute. The real thing is three or four times as expensive, of course, but it's well worth the price. I never buy anything else. I've also found DOP Asiago, Grana Padano, and Pecorino Romano at my neighborhood grocery and I've seen Tallegio and Fontina in specialty shops. BUT – big “but” – they are usually mixed right in there with the domestically produced Italian looking stuff, so caveat emptor.

I was kind of taken to task the other day by a friend who accused me of being too “Italio-centric” in my outlook. “There's absolutely nothing wrong with Wisconsin cheese, you know. Just because it's Italian doesn't mean it's better.”

Quite right! But because it's made in Wisconsin specifically means that it's not Italian, and the point of the whole exercise is not to say that one is better than the other, but to ensure that consumers recognize the difference. As a native son of “America's Dairyland” I would be stripped of my foam-rubber cheese hat and banished to exile in Illinois if I dared even consider denigrating locally produced cheese! But even the most die-hard home-growner – or is that “home-groaner” – has to admit that chemically enhanced, industrially produced cheeses can't hold a candle to those that are artisan-made according to traditional methods. And that's the way most cheeses are still made in Italy. If you have one functioning taste bud in your mouth you can't possibly compare the crap in the green can to real Parmigiano-Reggiano. And even the best of the Wisconsin-made “Parmesans” tend to be pale and rubbery when compared to the real thing. Blame the FDA. Commercial American cheesemakers are forced to use pasteurized milk, and it – along with various production shortcuts – does make a difference in the finished product.

(Cue “The Star-Spangled Banner.”) So buy American! It's good stuff! The best stuff made by the best people on the planet, etc., etc. Never mind that American manufacturers exhibit what my friend calls “good old Yankee ingenuity” by wrapping their products not in red, white and blue to show their Yankee pride but in red, white and green to fool consumers into thinking they're buying an authentic Italian product. If the product is so superior, why not decorate it with American flags and call it “Madisonian” instead of “Parmesan?” I mean, really, what's so great about Parma?

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. But I hope you get the point. There's nothing wrong with domestically made products, but if you expect real Italian quality and real Italian flavor in the dishes you work so hard to prepare, you have to buy real Italian ingredients. Anything else is just a good substitute.

Buon appetito!

*[DOP (Denominazione di Origine Protetta) and IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) are the Italian translations of the EU's Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) and Protected Geographical Indication (PGI).]

The Italianissimi Project: Identifying Real Italian Food

I recently came across an article in the Wall Street Journal that piqued my interest. It seems a bunch of Italian food producers are becoming increasingly upset with manufacturers and purveyors of food products in other countries – particularly the US – who slap Italian flags and Italian or Italian-sounding words on their products in an effort to market them as authentic Italian goods. Collectively, they have launched the “Italianissimi project,” the overall objective of which is to educate American consumers about the importance of geographic origin for Italian food products and the concept of authenticity and guarantee.

The food culture of Italy is, by and large, the culture of Italy, second only to its artistic status as the birthplace of the Renaissance. It is a source of national pride, and people tend to get a little prickly when you poke them in the pride.

And it's not only a matter of national pride. Economics also enter the equation. According to Italian government statistics, “Italian sounding” products cause serious damage to the country’s food producers to the tune of more than 60 billion Euros, a figure which represents more than half the total value of Italian agricultural and food production and three times more than Italy’s exports in this sector.

The heart and soul of Italian cuisine are found in the quality of its ingredients and that quality has long been assured by tightly controlled and regulated production standards. These standards fall within the jurisdiction of European Union law under the auspices of Protected Designation of Origin (PDO), and Protected Geographical Indication (PGI). In Italy, these terms translate to Denominazione di Origine Protetta or DOP and Indicazione Geografica Protetta or IGP. (Another system, known as the Denominazione di Origine Controllata or DOC is Italy's system for ensuring quality wines.) For the sake of consistency, I'll refer to the Italian designations, DOP and IGP.

These laws and regulations are intended to protect the names and standards of locally and regionally produced food products. According to the Italian Ministry of Agricultural, Food and Forestry Policies, Italy has the greatest number of DOP and IGP products of any European nation. Only products that meet the vigorous criteria imposed under these systems qualify for protected status. There are also a variety of consortia dedicated to preserving the authenticity and integrity of their products.

DOP identifies a product that is made, processed and produced in a specific geographic area that has been thoroughly surveyed. The DOP designation is applied to products from a particular region/country having features that are primarily or exclusively attributable to the geographic environment (including natural and human elements) and that are produced and processed within the defined area.

In the case of IGP, at least one stage of production or processing of the product takes place within the designated area. In addition, the product has a certain reputation. IGP designates a native product of the region/country whose qualities/reputation/features can be attributed to its geographic origin, and whose production and/or processing take place within that area (at least one stage of production must take place within the designated area).

Consumers need to look for the DOP or IGP seals on authentic Italian products. In use since 2006, new regulations regarding color were introduced in May, 2010. A red and gold seal denotes a DOP product while a blue and gold seal is found on IGP products.

Needless to say, the United States has no such standards. That's why manufacturers can get by with making up words that end in vowels, pasting little bandiere on packaging, wrapping products in green, white and red, or employing phrases like “Italian-style” to entice gullible consumers into buying goods that they assume are authentic Italian. And that's why the Italians are understandably upset.

You can buy authentic Italian food products in the United States. They're everywhere nowadays. Much more so than in the not too distant past when you had to seek out an Italian specialty shop in an Italian neighborhood in order to buy a bottle of olive oil. My son lives in Italy and was lamenting on the phone the other day about how difficult the culinary transition will be when he eventually returns to the States. “Not so,” I assured him. The ethnic shops in the ethnic neighborhoods are still thriving and one can easily find authentic Italian ingredients in most high-end supermarkets these days. You just have to know what to look for.

This does not infer that every Italian-made product is superior to its American counterpart. That's usually the case because of America's sad proclivity for cheap and fast manufacturing. That said, if you buy an artisinal sausage made by the Italian guy in the shop down the street, you're undoubtedly buying a great sausage. But it still can't be represented as an authentic Italian product – even if it's made by an authentic Italian – unless it meets the established criteria.

From a consumer's standpoint, the crux of the matter lies in the fact that Genoa City, Wisconsin is not Genoa, Italy and you are not going to find stacks and piles of authentic, DOP or IGP sealed products on its grocery store shelves. If you want to be shocked and awed by the variety of authentic Italian food products available in the United States, head to Manhattan's Flatiron district and worship at the temple that is Mario Batali's “Eataly.” If you just want to prepare a decent Italian meal for family and friends, stop by your neighborhood supermarket. But watch what you buy. Not everything that says “Italy” is Italian.

To learn more about the Italianissimi project and how to identify real Italian food products, go to http://www.trueitalianfood.it.

Watch the blog. Over the course of the next few days I'll go in depth about a few common Italian supermarket offerings that often aren't really Italian. Parmesan cheese, for example. The crap in the green can is about as far from the real Italian product as the Earth is from the Moon. I'll fill you in about tomato products, dried pasta, olive oil, and Italian meat products, too.

Chi mangia bene mangia italiano.

The Unforgettable Johnny Cash

Reader's Digest magazine used to have a section called something like “My Most Unforgettable Character.”

For me, that's a tough one. Over the course of my career as an entertainer and a broadcaster I've met, worked with, interviewed or otherwise encountered literally hundreds of people who would qualify. But if I had to pick the person who just flat-footed floored me the most, it would probably be Johnny Cash.

Johnny Cash was well on his way to becoming one of the most influential musicians of the 20^th century when I first became aware of his music in the late 1950s and early '60s. His first recordings at Sun Records, “Hey Porter” and "Cry, Cry, Cry,” were released the same year I was born, so I very much grew up with Johnny Cash's musical career.

By the time I was ten years old, I knew all the words to all the Cash classics – “Ring of Fire,” “I Walk the Line,” “Folsom Prison Blues,” “Don't Take Your Guns to Town,” “Understand Your Man,” “Tennessee Flat Top Box” and so many others. They were the first tunes I learned to play on my guitar.

I was a big fan of the color black in those days. I still am. My favorite TV characters were the ones who wore black – Paladin, Adam Cartwright. Is it any wonder that the most prominent “Man in Black” should be one of my idols?

Needless to say, I wasn't considered very “cool” in high school, where most of my peers were digging the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. When I graduated, I added the “Any Old Wind That Blows” album to my growing collection as kind of a graduation present to myself.

Fast forward about fifteen years. Johnny Cash hadn't cracked the Top Ten in almost a decade. His version of “(Ghost) Riders in the Sky” from the 1979 “Silver” album made it to #2 on the charts and only four of his next forty single releases even made it into the Top 40. Returning to his gospel roots, he was doing a lot of shows in churches and small venues across the country. It was at one such venue that I had an opportunity to interview the musical icon of my youth.

I was hanging out in a room backstage, waiting for “the man.” By now this was pretty much a “ho-hum” routine that I had gone through many times before. As an actor and entertainer, I was already acquainted with more than a few “celebrities,” and as a broadcaster and talk show host I had conducted interviews like this one with dozens of others.

But this was different. This was Johnny Cash! I mean, I used to comb my hair like his when I was a kid! I knew all the words to all of his songs and I tried to pitch my voice and inflections to match his when I sang them. I'm not ordinarily starstruck, but this was no ordinary star!

There were numerous members of Johnny's troupe bustling around preparing for the show. June Carter wandered in and out a few times, sometimes accompanied by her sister, Anita, and sometimes by her up-and-coming daughter, Carlene. (I also interviewed Carlene's daddy, the legendary Carl Smith, a couple of years later.) I was surrounded by stars of various magnitudes. And then came the brightest star in the firmament.

Presence. I'd never experienced such presence before – and I haven't since. He was tall, of course. He was a little older than my childhood memories recalled and that craggy, weathered face had a few more lines and creases. But he was undeniably Johnny Cash. And then he spoke. “Hi. I'm Johnny Cash. Nice to meet you.” Like he had to introduce himself! I might have walked right by the governor or maybe even the Vice-President of the United States without recognizing them, but Johnny Cash certainly needed no introduction.

We chatted briefly about inconsequentials like the weather and the gate for the day's show and we talked about some folks we knew in common. The week's country music Top 10 had just cleared the wires a couple of hours earlier and Johnny's daughter, Roseanne, had charted #1 with a cover of her dad's “Tennessee Flat Top Box.” When I told him the news, his face lit up and he said, “That's great. I don't think I ever made it past number three or four with that one.” (I didn't care to be the one to remind him that the song topped out at #11 on Billboard's Hot Country Singles and #84 on the pop charts back in 1961.) He was obviously delighted and proud and took a minute to pass the news on to June. I was thrilled to have been the one to make his day that way.

Then I set up my equipment and we got down to the interview. And something really strange happened. I blew it. I'm here to tell you that every intelligent thought went straight out of my head and instead of a seen-it-all seasoned professional, Johnny Cash found himself sitting across the table from a blithering idiot. I did the worst interview with my boyhood hero that I had ever done with anyone before or since. And I knew it. It was my “captain of the Titanic” moment. The ship was going down and all I could do was go along for the ride.

Johnny was gracious. He was so good. So patient. He had to be thinking, “Who let this guy loose?” but it never showed. He marched bravely through my amateur hour interview for about fifteen minutes before standing and shaking hands with me and telling white lies about what a pleasure it had been to meet me. I watched as his tall, broad-shouldered, black-clad frame turned and exited the room and I just quietly slunk out to my seat in the auditorium, thoroughly humbled and humiliated.

Returning to my studio, I did something I had never done before. Determined that Johnny should not suffer from my inability to string together a coherent sentence in his presence (and also not wanting to sound like a total doofus to my audience), I edited myself. This was the dark ages before digital recording, mind you. Editing was done with a razor blade and tape. And I went through the entire ordeal excising my stupid, banal questions. Then, taking Johnny's attempts to answer the most poorly-framed questions he'd probably ever been asked, I recorded myself asking brilliant questions and spliced them in to match his wonderful answers. The edited interview was fabulous and the listeners loved it. (But I kept the original interview as a reminder to myself whenever I felt too cocky.)

Oh, I owned up to it, of course. I did so on the air a few times when retelling the tale and I did so from the stage once when I performed a set of Johnny Cash tunes – including “Tennessee Flat Top Box” – as part of a country tribute show. (I guess all those years of idolizing Johnny paid off; I was standing in line at a video store a couple of days later and a guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I sure liked your show the other night. You did a real good Johnny Cash.”)

I continued to idolize Johnny Cash right up 'til the day he died. And I always treasured the few moments I spent with him. More than twenty years and dozens of “celebrities” later, he remains the most memorable and impressive person I've ever encountered. He totally blew me away in a manner that no one else ever has. There are stars, there are legends, and then there's Johnny Cash.

Recipe: Chicken-Flavored Rice

I grew up on Rice-A-Roni. You know. "The San Francisco Treat." The original chicken variety was introduced to the world about three years after I was.

Although I always enjoyed the flavor, in recent years, as I began to analyze packaged and processed foods a little more, I came to the realization that there was some stuff in there that I didn't especially want to include in my diet. MSG, for one. Hydrolyzed soy protein and hydrolyzed corn gluten weren't tops on my list either. And I could definitely live without disodium guanylate, disodium inosinate, and ferric orthophosphate.

So I began to wonder if I could duplicate the recipe, retaining the same flavor but without all the additives and preservatives. The answer was an unqualified "yes." The first time I served my new creation, I waited until my wife was about halfway through her portion before I asked how she liked it. "It's fine," she said. I pressed her about the taste. "It's Rice-A-Roni," she replied. "How is it supposed to taste?"

There is absolutely no difference between my recipe and chicken-flavor Rice-A-Roni -- except for the artificial ingredients and the cost. Mine's much cheaper to make. To avoid aggravating the legal beagles at Golden Grain, let's call mine ... are you ready for this ...

"RICE-O-RONNIE"

1 tablespoon chicken bouillon

1 tablespoon dried parsley

1 teaspoon dried celery flakes

1 teaspoon dried minced onions

1/8 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon turmeric

1 cup uncooked rice

1/4 cup vermicelli, broken into small pieces

2 tablespoons butter

2 1/2 cups water

Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the rice and vermicelli. Stir to coat and combine.Saute until the vermicelli begins to brown. Add 2 1/2 cups water. Stir in combined seasonings; bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 15 to 20 minutes or until rice is tender.

Makes 3 cups

You can dress it up with some cooked, cubed chicken, if desired.

Try it. You'll never buy the boxed stuff again.

Buon appetito!