Kitchens Are Dangerous Places

Not Everybody is Cut Out to Be an Iron Chef

I'm sitting here pondering, “How the hell do you hurt yourself with an immersion blender?” And yet there it is. According to a recent article in the New York Times, mandoline slicers, meat grinders, food processors,and immersion blenders are sending folks to hospital ERs with alarming frequency. In fact, quoting stats from the US Consumer Product Safety Commission, nearly twice as many people wound up being treated for kitchen-related injuries in 2011 as were seen in 2001.

The article speculates that a concomitant rise in televised cooking shows may have something to do with it. Maybe so. After all, a lot of people who have hardly ever seen the inside of a kitchen are suddenly being turned on to cooking by the likes of Bobby Flay, Rachael Ray, et. al. They run out and buy all the latest gadgets they see on TV and, having no idea how to use them, wind up as emergency room statistics. Face it, not everybody is cut out to be an Iron Chef.

Short of an anti-griddle, an immersion circulator, and an ice cream machine, I own most of the aforesaid gadgets. And I'm trying to think of how many times I've hurt myself on one of them. I have a fairly decent track record, a record I attribute to two factors: being careful and knowing what I'm doing.

There are pretty much two kinds of injuries you're going to get in a kitchen; burns and cuts. Yeah, you can slip and fall or have things fall on you, but, by and large, you're either going to get cut or burned. I've had both. And ninety-nine percent of the time it's been my own careless fault.

Burn-wise, the one exception happened when I was in high school and a defective handle caused a pot of smoking hot oil to overturn. It was an uncomfortable recovery period, especially where the oil melted my polyester pants. Otherwise, most of my burns have been of the “Ouch! Merda!” variety that occur when you touch a hot lid or pot handle or when you brush the edge of an oven rack or the inside of the oven door. And we won't even talk about grease splatters and steam scalds. They just come with the territory.

I have a deep fryer. I've never had any trouble with it because I remember two very important rules: (1. Never overfill a fryer (or a pan in which you intend to fry something.) Even if you dry them, many of the foods you stick in the hot oil are going to have some moisture left in them or on them and it will cause the oil to bubble up really, really fast. This has the potential of sending you to the hospital or of bringing in the firefighters. The second rule ties in with the first; don't throw frozen food into the hot oil. It will cause the oil to bubble up really, really fast........

If you should sustain a serious burn – as in second or third degree – whether it be a dry burn or from oil or water, don't try to tough it out with some sort of cockamamie, half-assed home remedy. I once saw a poor schmuck get an armful of boiling water clean up to the elbow. Some idiot knew how to “take care of it.” She slathered soy sauce on the guy's arm and wrapped it in paper towels. Basically, she marinated his arm. After two trips to the ER, the guy wound up hospitalized with an infection.

I've had my share of knife nicks, too. Mostly of the type that make you say naughty things and run for a Band-Aid. Oh, there was that time when I was about eleven years old and I was doing dishes and I ran the full length of the sharp side of a knife I was drying across my palm. I was still too young to have a respectable command of naughty things to say, but you know what? I've never done it again. Lesson learned.

Knives are probably the most dangerous of all kitchen tools, especially dull ones. You can do a lot of damage to yourself with a sharp knife, but the potential for damage is much greater with a dull one. The main reasons I still have all my fingertips and only a relative few scars on my knuckles are that I have very sharp knives in very good condition, and that I am acutely aware of my limitations. Some people aren't. They watch guys like Mario Batali slicing through vegetation at blinding speed while simultaneously looking directly into the camera, and they think, “I can do that.” No. They can't. I really believe there should be a disclaimer similar to the “Do not attempt. Professional driver on a closed course” line they use on the car commercials every time some TV chef starts flashing his knife skills around. Trust me, flashy knife skills make for great TV, but for practical purposes, slow and steady wins the race. And keeps you out of the hospital.

Believe it or not, one of the most common cutting injuries results from slicing bagels. A 2008 government safety study ranked bagel cuts as number five on the top ten. I guess it's because so many people hold the bagel in their hand and hack away at it. Put – the – bagel – down. Then hold it with the flattened palm of your hand while you slice horizontally through it. The bagel, that is. Not your hand.

Two other examples of careless knife handling before we move on to slicers: cutting on boards or surfaces that shimmy and shake like a hoochie-coochie dancer, and sticking your hands blindly into a sink full of murky water – and sharp knives. Both practices are pretty much guaranteed to redesign your digits. A simple way to stabilize an Elvis board – you know, one that rocks and rolls – is to spread a damp cloth under it. And never put sharp knives into dishwater. They turn into alligators. Hold the knife in your hand as you clean it, then dry it and put it away.

Moving on, slicers will really get ya. Mandoline slicers most of all. I once saw somebody on “Top Chef” slice herself right out of the competition with a mandoline. She was being all “Top Cheffy” and not using a guard or protective glove. I'm paranoid; I use both. And, along with piles of neatly sliced produce, I still have all ten fingers to show for it. Seriously, though, just enter “mandoline slicer injuries” in your favorite search engine and see what you get. Gruesome.

Meat slicers or deli slicers are also killers. Or, at least, great reshapers of Mother Nature's original design. Ask my son. Fortunately, the part of his finger that he lopped off eventually grew back. A butcher I knew when I was a kid wasn't so lucky. He was preoccupied at work one time and now points at things with an inch-and-a-half-long stub.

I've cussed my food processor a couple of times over the years. Actually, I've cussed my carelessness when picking up the round slicing blade. That rascal is razor sharp and you shouldn't blindly reach out for it while your mind is on something else. Band-Aid!!

Let's talk can openers for a minute. Now, the actual tool itself is pretty harmless, but the results of using one can be scary. The fancy new ones, like the OXO Smooth Edge, that make cuts below the lid and leave no sharp edges are very good. You have to be trying to cut yourself with one of those. But the old-fashioned openers that leave nice jagged edges around the top of the can have caused many a careless cook to seek medical assistance.

Have you ever grated a few layers off your knuckles on a box grater? It happens. In fact, it happened to Mario Batali on one of his first tapings of “Molto Mario.” He was grating carrots for a tomato sauce and zip! He just stuck his bleeding hand into the tomatoes and hoped nobody would notice until he could get cleaned up during a break. I would not recommend this approach in your kitchen.

As for blenders and immersion blenders, I don't get it. Unless the injuries occur when cleaning the blades, maybe. Otherwise, only somebody on the fast track for a Darwin Award would stick their fingers anywhere near the business end of an operating blender. I go with Alton Brown's idea for cleaning an immersion blender; immerse it in hot soapy water and fire it up. You can also clean a regular blender in a similar fashion; put soapy water or at 1:1 mix of baking soda and water into the blender and turn it on. No need to be fishing around with your fingers.

Mixers – both hand and stand – can also be manglers. They don't have to be. Simply make sure the mixer is off when you plug it in and that it is unplugged when you try to eject or remove the beaters. And surely I don't have to tell anyone to remove the beaters before you or the kids try to lick them.

There are lots of other hot, sharp, or pointy things in the kitchen that can do you harm if you're not careful. I know of somebody who got a nasty, concentric ring-shaped burn on the palm of her hand because she leaned on an electric eye that still registered 223 degrees despite having been turned off for more than a minute. All this is not to say that you should avoid the kitchen. Just be aware of the dangers therein. Most of the things I've described – indeed, the majority of kitchen accidents and injuries – are the result of simple carelessness. Know how to use your gadgets and tools, even something as simple as a knife. No showboating in the kitchen. And try to work in a safe environment. Screaming kids running through the room chasing the dog as the TV blares and the phone rings almost guarantee an accident to happen. Banish stress and distraction and remain focused on the task at hand, lest your hand become the focus of some emergency room doctor's task.

Be careful and be safe.

Taking Out Some Food Network Trash

I don't suppose I'd surprise anybody if I said the old Food Network ain't what she used to be. Once upon a time, you could actually learn about food there. If you were new to the kitchen you could learn how to cook and even if you were an experienced hand you could garner advice on how to cook better. The Food Network used to be about food. With a schedule jam packed with competition shows and “reality” programs, it's hard to tell what it's about now. Kind of like TLC. Remember when that used to stand for “The Learning Channel?” Populated now by bratty toddlers with tiaras, vapid cheerleaders, cougar wives, and the likes of Honey Boo-Boo, the only thing I've learned there is to not turn on that channel.

Oh, I'm still a Food Network junkie. It remains my “go to” station. When I turn on the TV, I always start at channel 231 before looking to see what might be on elsewhere. Unfortunately, whereas there used to be something on every night, it seems now that “elsewhere” is becoming an increasingly popular option.

I recently came across a blog post by writer Molly Dunn from the Houston Press entitled “5 Food Network Shows That Need to Go.” I find myself in complete agreement with Ms. Dunn's choices. (http://blogs.houstonpress.com/eating/2013/01/top_5_food_network_shows_that.php.)

Her picks include “Mystery Diners” and “Restaurant Stakeout.” Same show, different cast of characters. I can't figure out what the network needed with one of these programs; I certainly can't fathom the presence of two. I agree with Ms. Dunn that both programs are hard to take seriously. The premise is flimsy and the situations so obviously studied and scripted that nobody with two active brain cells would believe them to be anything other than fake. Kind of like “professional” wrestling. Okay, so your restaurant is losing bucketfuls of money and you think you know who's responsible. Do you, A) confront the malefactor and fire him, or, B) call the Food Network and have them send out a phalanx of cameras, both overt and covert, to “secretly” watch the suspect while you sit in a dark room with a guy who sends in shills and directs them through unlikely scenarios in an attempt to confirm what you've already figured out for yourself?

And while we're on the subject of dark rooms, have you ever noticed there's nearly always an empty office or warehouse or shop or something right next door to these afflicted establishments? I drove past several restaurants in my city and tried to find one that had a conveniently vacant space adjacent to it. No dice. And yet Charles and Willie always seem to find a perfect place to set up their command centers.

Which brings me to another issue; I know that technology has advanced to the point where you can conceal a camera in a matchbox, but some of the “hidden” devices they display on these shows are about as obvious as a thumb in your eye. And nobody in the place notices? “Hey, that big honkin' camera stuck to the ceiling wasn't there yesterday, was it?”

My favorite line is the one the announcer sonorously intones when Willie Degel shows up for the “emergency meeting.” “These employees have no idea of who is about to walk through that door.” That's right, they have no idea. And they continue to have no idea even after he introduces himself as “William Jack Degel of Uncle Jack's Steakhouse.” Why should they know and why should they care? I mean, this isn't some world-class culinary figure like Gordon Ramsay. If a fat dude in a pink tie walked into my place during a staff meeting and announced he was Joe Blow from Blow Me Down Steakhouse, should I be impressed? And would somebody please help Willie with his wardrobe? The ubiquitous pink tie is bad enough, but surely he owns something other than that pair of white shorts he wears to nearly every follow up.

Ms. Dunn says she is “creeped out” by “Sweet Genius” Ron Ben-Israel. Me, too. I've seen Ron Ben-Israel on other shows and he seems like a pretty normal guy. But the persona they've stuck him with on this silly show is........creepy. “I am a sweet genius. Are you?” To begin with, identifying yourself as a “genius” is a tad arrogant, don't you think? And considering the various connotations of the word “sweet,” the way this ballet dancer-turned-baker says it is.......creepy. As to the weird ingredients and odd format alluded to in Ms. Dunn's article, I really can't comment. One episode of this show was all it took for me to decide that one episode was one too many. I even fast forward through the promos.

While we're on the subject of annoying program hosts, let me cast my vote for Justin Willman of “Cupcake Wars.” Also known as “Justin Kredible,” he bills himself as an actor, entertainer, and magician. He's done a lot of work on kiddie shows and maybe kiddies think he's funny and entertaining but I find him irritating and bordering on smarmy. He and that insufferably pompous French judge, Florian Bellanger, are the two main reasons I gave up on the show after just a couple of episodes. That and the tired, derivative format.

Melissa d'Arabian and her “Ten Dollar Dinners” also make Ms. Dunn's heave-ho list. She likes the premise but doesn't like the host. What can I say? Melissa d'Arabian is the product of Food Network's current “star” system, the same system that gave us the likes of Aaron “Big Daddy” McCargo, Aaarti “Paarti” Sequeira, and a host of other forgettable lesser luminaries. The real “stars” like Bobby Flay, Giada De Laurentiis, Mario Batali, Alton Brown, Tyler Florence – even, heaven help me, Ina Garten and Paula Deen – aren't being discovered and developed under the aegis of today's network execs who seem to feel that still another goofy “competition” show is the way to populate the firmament. So you get what you get; six-week wonders stuck on Saturday and Sunday mornings with an occasional prime time guest shot to justify the network's investment.

Then there's Ms. Dunn's principal candidate for the hook, Sandra Lee. Like Ms. Dunn, I really wonder what she's doing on Food Network. I don't know where they found her, but I wish they'd send her back. Actually, I do know where. She was an infomercial host on QVC, known primarily for hawking her eponymous “Sandra Lee Kraft Kurtains.” Ah, but she did attend Le Cordon Bleu......for a week. Close enough for a Food Network star! Sandra Lee is a total construct; a wooden frame with a plastic facade. Her questionable culinary ability runs about as deep as her ersatz, synthetic Stepford personality. She won a Daytime Emmy not for her tremendous cooking skills but for her “Outstanding Makeup.” Woo-hoo! When I need to learn how to cook from a box, I'll just read the directions, thank you. With her proclivity toward processed, preservative-laden products, one might think she was related to Sara Lee – except “nobody doesn't like Sara Lee,” a claim Sandra Lee can't make. Ask Anthony Bourdain.

There are other shows that I'd like to see axed. “Health Inspectors” comes to mind. Never watch this show when you're eating. And don't watch it if you ever plan to eat out again. There are some things you don't really want to know. This one's a little contrived, too. So, let's say, for the sake of argument, that I own a restaurant. And let's say that I know I have a health inspection coming up. And I know that my place is so disgustingly filthy that it'll never pass. So what do I do? Do I, A) consult the health codes and regulations and clean the place up accordingly, or, B) call Food Network and ask them to send out Ben Vaughn with a camera crew to show the entire world what a clueless, ignorant doofus I am and to stand there with “stoopid” written all over my face as Ben “discovers” one unsanitary disaster after another. “Oh, you mean if I'm knee-deep in rat turds, I might fail my inspection?” Du-u-u-uhhh! This is “reality” TV at its unreal worst. In my state, and in many others, the law requires the presence of a ServSafe certified employee in every eating establishment. You can't tell me all these people don't know basic sanitation practices and require a TV show to come in and educate them. Besides, in my experience, health inspectors don't usually call you weeks in advance; they just kinda show up and catch you with your pants down. That's been known to happen, too, but I don't want to give Food Network any more ideas for new reality programs.

And then there's the infamous Food Network “overkill” factor. When they do luck up and find somebody with a little charisma who sorta knows his way around a kitchen, they stick him in your face until you're sick of looking at him. I'm not pointing fingers at Guy Fieri, of course, but in the next one week period from the hour of this writing, “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” will air fifty-six times and we'll be treated to an additional fourteen exposures to Guy on “Rachael vs Guy” and “Guy's Big Bite.” Seventy opportunities to watch Guy Fieri in seven days. Even his mother wouldn't watch him that often.

Under Bob Tuschman et.al, Food Network's programming is broken. But its profits are soaring. The network is pandering to the same audience that puts Honey Boo-Boo on a pedestal. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me to see a crossover; “In the Kitchen with Honey Boo-Boo.” The prevailing philosophy seems to be along the lines of you'll never go broke underestimating the taste or intelligence of the American public or appealing to the lowest common denominator.

And where does that leave foodie junkies like Molly Dunn and me? Living with our hopes, I guess. Hopes that someday somebody “upstairs” will wake up and smell the bacon. And continuing in the meantime to choose favorite dishes from an increasingly sparse buffet.

Restaurant Review: Portofino Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria, Gastonia, NC

A Good Italian Restaurant Is Hard to Find

Portofino is a quaint Italian village located in Liguria up in the northwest corner of the peninsula. And it's probably easier to get to than its restaurant namesake in Gastonia, North Carolina. They say a good Italian restaurant is hard to find; boy, were they right! GPS got me into the neighborhood, but it took a phone call to a native guide at the eatery to navigate my way through the maze of stores and strip malls to find the exact location. Ultimately, though, it was really worth the effort.

Walking through the front door lands you squarely in front of the pizza counter. This is not a bad thing, as it lends a nice authentic Italian-American pizzeria air to the experience. A friendly guy, who turned out to be one of the owners, greeted us, saying, “You must be the one who called me. Glad you found us. Sit anywhere you like.” He indicated the dining room off to the right.

It's a nice dining room. The furnishings, while not elegant, are functional and comfortable. There's a beautiful mural adorning one wall. Maybe it's a tad dark and a little dated, but who cares? I'm here for the food, you know?

The service could not have been better. Mike, our waiter, was everything a waiter should be. He was pleasant, friendly, helpful, informative, and very efficient. It was late after a Saturday dinner service and there weren't too many other diners in the place, so we were quite pleased by the speed with which our food was brought to the table.

The food itself was wonderful. Mike informed us that one of the owners – one other than the pizzaiolo who greeted us – prepared the meal himself. I was told he was direct from Naples – or Napoli, as Mike quickly corrected himself to say – and even though we were eating pretty standard Italian-American fare, that Neapolitan influence came through in the dishes.

The menu features two levels of antipasti. One level contains the more authentic offerings such as mozzarella alla Caprese and real, actual bruschetta, not just the typical Americanized garlic bread. That item appears on the more typical part of the menu, along with garlic cheese bread and fried mozzarella sticks. We opted for the Caprese, and were not disappointed. Real mozzarella di buffala served with slices of tomatoes and torn basil leaves drizzled over with a remarkably flavorful olive oil. A definite Neapolitan touch.

I like the layout of the pasta menu. The types of pasta available – cappellini, linguini, fettuccini, penne, and spaghetti – are printed horizontally across the top. An impressive variety of sauces and preparations are then listed vertically below. Needless to say, all are made in house.

The entrees were sized proportionately to the average American appetite, meaning we all knew there would be boxes of leftovers in our future. My choice was spaghetti al pomodoro. Here was more evidence of Napoli. This was not the pile of spaghetti covered in tomato sauce that I rather expected. Instead, the pasta was presented in a light sauce of rich diced tomatoes with chunks of garlic interspersed among a generous seasoning of fresh basil. The sauce was a condiment accentuating the pasta, as it should be in authentic Italian cuisine. It was superbo! Of course, I couldn't have eaten it all without doing serious injury to myself, but it was just as delicious warmed over for lunch the next day.

My wife and one of our friends arranged a trade; she ordered meat ravioli from the “Vecchie Specialita” section of the menu and he chose the del Boscaiola sauce over penne from the “Pasta” list. They then portioned out sample bites for one another. Our other companion also went to the “Vecchie Specialita” side for her manicotti.

Everybody was ecstatic over their choices, but the penne alla Boscaiola was a particularly big hit. I snagged a bite from the portion for which my wife traded her ravioli and it was amazing. Different, too. A typical al boscaiola – which roughly translates to “woodsman's style” – is a Tuscan staple consisting of prosciutto and/or pancetta with mushrooms and Parmesan cheese in a cream sauce. Here there were no mushrooms – none that I could discern, anyway. Peas were substituted with very tasty results.

There's more than pasta, of course. The menu has lots of delectable-looking chicken, veal, and seafood dishes and an ample selection of sandwiches. And I think I mentioned pizza, right? Gotta go back and try some. If it's half as good as the rest of the menu, I'll consider moving to Gastonia.

Let me give a quick mention to the complimentary bread. I ate way too much of it which is probably why I had no room left for the sumptuous dessert offerings. The bread comes warm in a basket with the ubiquitous little containers of butter. But please notice there is a cruet of olive oil on the table and take advantage of it. I did. I was told the oil is an Italian import. I hope so. After voraciously dipping the warm, crusty bread in it and bragging on it the way I did, I'd hate to discover that it came from the grocery store down the street. But I don't think that was the case. I import my olive oil and this stuff was every bit as good as what I have shipped in. I could drink it straight.

Speaking of drinking, a nice selection of beer and wine was offered as well as the usual assortment of soft drinks and coffees.

As noted, none of us had room for dessert, a real shame because the cannoli, tiramisu, cheesecake, and spumoni all looked pretty good. Next time, for sure.

The atmosphere at Portofino's is casual and family-friendly. The prices are quite reasonable. The pasta dishes were $6.95 and we doled out four bucks more for the ravioli and the manicotti. At $8.95, the mozzarella alla Caprese was a little above the average Italian-American restaurant appetizer price, but the quality was well worth the extra dollar or two. Parking is no problem; we are talking strip mall here.

Located at 3736 East Franklin Blvd in Gastonia, NC (28056), Portofino Italian Restaurant & Pizzeria is open daily from 10:30 to 10. Call them – I had to – at (704) 824-2143. Or you can check out their website at http://portofinoitalianrestaurant.com.

Holiday Destination: McAdenville, NC - Christmas Town USA

"Oh, the traffic outside is frightful; but the lights are so delightful"

They call it “Christmas Town, USA.” At least the local boosters do. The rest of the world calls it McAdenville. And, by the way, despite what the voice of Google Search says, it's “Mc-AD-enville,” not “Mc-ADE-enville.”

Located a mere stone's throw west of the sprawling metropolis of Charlotte, McAdenville, North Carolina is barely a wide spot in the highway. With a population of just over 600, McAdenville has something of an identity crisis; both nearby Charlotte and adjacent Gastonia claim the hamlet as a suburb. But for a few weeks every year, everybody agrees that it's really an extension of the North Pole.

The sign at the town's entrance off I-85 at exit 23 proclaims that “Christmas Town” was founded in 1881. Well, sort of. Named for Rufus Yancey McAden, president of the local textile mill, McAdenville was incorporated in that year. “Christmas Town” came along a good bit later, influenced, coincidentally, by a successor of Rufus McAden, one W.J. Pharr, president of Pharr Yarns.

Back in 1956, the local Men's Club came up with the idea of making things merry and bright by hanging lights on a few trees around town. The town fathers said, “Sure. Why not?” Pharr and his wife also got behind the project and nine trees were decorated in red, white, and green lights.

Fast forward a half-century or so. Things have expanded a little. Today, more than 375 trees, ranging in height from six feet to more than ninety feet, boast strings of bright holiday lights numbering anywhere from 500 to 5,000 lights per tree. Preparations begin in August. And even though W.J. Pharr is no longer around, his successors at Pharr Yarns continue to support the project he helped develop, picking up the electric bill for the town's light display.

But it's so much more than just a municipal holiday display. The community at large has gotten involved and the result is truly magical.

“Christmas Town USA” is pretty much the two-mile stretch of NC 7 that runs through McAdenville between I-85 and US 29-74. The route passes through beautiful neighborhoods and the town's quaint “downtown” center. Nearly every home is decorated in some fashion. A few sport only very simple wreaths illuminated by spotlights. Most, however, are adorned in a truly grand manner. Lots of twinkling lights, lots of inflatables. More than two hundred wreaths hang from the town's lampposts. Life-size representations of Santa and his reindeer, carolers, and other iconic images are everywhere. And there are a lot of larger-than-life displays, too. For example, the massive Old Man Winter located on the shores of a small lake near the town center, “blowing” lighted “snowflakes” into the air. The lake itself is ringed with decorated trees while a fountain in the middle jets water seventy-five feet into the air as colored lights play through the spray. The sounds of chimes and music emanate from several sources along the way.

Besides the ongoing light display, there are a couple of special events that highlight the season; the lighting ceremony that occurs at the beginning of the season and the yule log ceremony that happens about midway through.

A word or two of caution: we made the dreadful mistake of going to see the lights on a Saturday evening. If you follow our foolish example, don't be surprised that it will take you somewhere between two and three hours to take in the sights. Seeing the breathtaking displays along the designated route will take thirty minutes to an hour. The rest of your time will be spent sitting in miles-long traffic beside I-85. Cars begin pulling off onto the shoulder of the Interstate about a mile-and-a-half before the actual exit ramp. A second line stretches back about a half to three-quarters-of-a-mile along what would usually be the inside exit lane. About halfway up the exit ramp, the two lines attempt to converge into a single lane. You'll see lots of blue lights before you get to the red, white, and green as state and local police do their best to regulate the flow of traffic. But I might humbly suggest that they station one officer at the choke point on the Interstate before somebody gets killed there. We witnessed several near misses caused by clueless idiots who, having bypassed all the standing traffic, tried to force their way into the head of the line. Lots of shouting, lots of cursing, lots of horn blowing, not a lot of peace on Earth and goodwill to men.

The traffic backup was so immense that we observed many people getting out of their cars and hiking up the ramp to the gas station, returning with bags of provisions. There were numerous other people – men, mostly – who took little trips into the woods beside the highway. The movie “Rio” was showing on the rear-facing screen of the vehicle in front of us; we watched most of the movie as we crawled along. If you are not prepared for this scenario, your mood may be ruined before you get to the destination, and that would be a shame. There were four of us in the car and ultimately we all agreed that the experience was worth the inconvenience. But we all also agreed that we would never do it again on a Saturday night.

All in all, though, it was a memorable adventure, one highlighted not only by bright lights but by bright spirits. Even as we moved slowly through all the festive luminosity, we were greeted by shouts of “Merry Christmas” from passing cars and pedestrians. The joy and excitement of both children and adults was palpable. On that December evening, we could truly sing, “In the air there's a feeling of Christmas.”

Detailed information on “Christmas Town USA” can be found at http://www.mcadenville-christmastown.com.

Yelpers, Urbanspooners, and Trip Advisors Beware!

A couple of news stories connected with one of my favorite soapbox platforms recently caught my eye.

As anybody who reads my scribblings knows, I am not a big fan of social media, particularly when it comes to the so-called “review” sites. These sites are little more than outlets created for people to vent their two cents' worth. Unfortunately, such opinions are frequently worth considerably less than the advertised price. Not that I have anything against expressing one's opinion. As I often and unambiguously state, everyone is entitled to my opinion. And if you have an opinion to offer that is intelligent, well-constructed, based in fact, and anchored in experience and/or expertise, have at it.

All too often, though, the pronouncements rendered on social “review” sites aren't reviews at all. They are petty gripes and complaints expressed as mere billingsgate by individuals secure in their closets of anonymity and cloaked in what they perceive to be their First Amendment right to “free speech.”

Without miring down in constitutional law and Supreme Court decisions involving Holmes-ian (Oliver Wendell, not Sherlock) quotations regarding the shouting of “fire” in crowded theaters, some of these alleged “reviewers” are discovering that sometimes “free speech” comes at a cost.

Take, for example, the recent brouhaha involving Chef Marc Orfaly of Boston's upscale eatery, Pigalle. In case you aren't up on the details, the chef very publicly lambasted a “review” of his establishment posted on Facebook by a woman named “Sandy.” Using the same medium, Orfaly lashed out at “Sandy,” calling her a bitch and telling her to vai cazzo herself. (He said it in English, but everything sounds so much nicer in Italian, you know.)

“Sandy” was, shall we say, somewhat disappointed by her meal. And she expressed her disappointment by saying endearing things online. Things like, “"Really horrible pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving!! Wow. I don't have a clue as to why you would think that throwing pumpkin chunks into a cold pre baked pie shell and then covering it with a cream sauce that literally tasted like vomit { I am very serious!} and topping it off with whipped cream that was runny would in any way be something that can be called pumpkin pie?"

To which Orfaly responded, “you must enjoy vomit you bitch if you know how much it tastes like.” And it got worse. There was a lot more. She jumped back into the fray. He responded in kind.

Children, children! Please!

Orfaly has since apologized, as well he should. He was way out of line in the things that he said. But was he out of line for saying them? I don't think so.

The chef considered that he was defending his trade. “I feel like restaurateurs have to stick up for themselves in one way or another.” He says even though he knows he could have handled the situation better, he has still gotten support from fellow chefs.

I say again, he was one hundred percent wrong in launching a profanity-laced tirade against another human being. That is never defensible, no matter what you think you are defending. But he was one hundred percent right in his reasoning.

The restaurant business is incredibly tough. Oh, the diner who walks in the door, sits down at a table, has a meal, pays the check, and walks back out thinks that running a restaurant is just like cooking at home only on a bigger scale. And that's unimaginably incorrect. One out of every three new restaurants fails within its first year. Even successful chefs – the ones you see on TV – have failures. And it doesn't help to have idiots with inflated senses of self-importance sitting down at keyboards talking trash about things of which they know little.

“But I know what I like!” Okay! Fine! But what you like and what I like may be two different things. If the only spaghetti you've ever had came out of a can with Chef Boyardee's picture on it and that's what you “like,” then you're probably going to hate the kind of stuff they serve at an authentic Italian restaurant. So does that give you the right to go online and tell the whole world that a place has “terrible” food simply because you didn't like it? Do you have the right to ruin a person's business and take away the livelihoods of that person's employees because you think you're God's arbiter of culinary excellence? And do you really think your sophisticated palate and your rapier wit are exemplified by enlightened comments such as “literally tasted like vomit?” Please.

Before you consign Chef Orfaly to the kitchens of hell, imagine, if you would, that you hosted a big dinner party. Everybody ate, drank, and made merry. And then some jerk went home and wrote for all the world to see that your food tasted like vomit. How would you feel? How would you respond?

These are not trained and experienced gourmands. These are the people next door; the ones who grew up eating canned, packaged, and frozen processed food products from a microwave. And don't be surprised to see more responses from guys like Orfaly who are defending their reputations and fighting for their businesses. In this vaunted “Information Age,” why should the discourse be one-sided?

A little advice, though, for would-be Orfalys: before you send your inner Anthony Bourdain out into the blogosphere, remember what your mama probably told you, “If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.” Ignorant people are what they are, and rudely pointing out their shortcomings only reflects badly on you. Maybe this aphorism, attributed to a variety of sources, but nonetheless true, applies, “Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig.”

In another instance of an online “review” gone wrong, the response took the form not of a Facebook diatribe, but of a three-quarters of a million-dollar lawsuit.

A homeowner in Fairfax, Virginia was a little peeved with the service she received from a local contractor. True to the current social model of posting one's every move, emotion, thought, and experience online for all the world to share, she went to yelping on Yelp. Here she accused the contractor of shoddy workmanship and made veiled allegations of theft. She gave the guy one star and advised her readers not to put themselves through “this nightmare of a contractor.”

Imagine her surprise when her “nightmare” entered her waking world bearing a $750,000 defamation suit. According to a Washington Post report, lawyers are labeling such reactions as “a growing trend” in the “freewheeling and acerbic world of Web speech” where such speech is “colliding with the ever-growing importance of online reputations for businesses, doctors, restaurants, even teachers.”

The author of the “review” said she didn't want to see what happened to her happen to anyone else. Well, applause and shouts of “brava!” for her selfless altruism. Or was it, to use a phrase employed by the writer of the Post article, her attempt at “the go-to form of retail vengeance in the Internet age?”

Back in the good old days, if someplace pissed you off, you told your family and friends about it, right? And they probably told a few of their acquaintances and pretty soon you had a couple dozen folks all vowing to never patronize a certain business. At least until cooler heads prevailed and a little time passed and the whole incident blew over.

But in the brave new world of the Information Age, Mr. and Mrs. Average Citizen, through the anarchic instrument of the Internet, now possess the means to utterly destroy the lives of the people by whom they are offended. No more spoken complaints in the ears of a close few. Now, with a collection of keystrokes, an indelible record can be created and shared with the the population of an entire neighborhood, city, county, state, country or planet! You can get yours, alright! You can teach that sucker to piss YOU off! Never mind his wife and kids and the families of his employees. You got him and you got him good!

Pathetic. And frankly, I extol the business people who send their lawyers in to be their paladins in the face of wildly unexpurgated drivel. More power to 'em. Nothing like a good tort to deflate the overblown opinion some people have of themselves and of their importance.

But on a smaller, more personal scale, here's what I do; fight fire with fire and rebut. When I see a horrible and obviously biased “review” of a business I know to be good, I get online and write a detailed rebuttal. So should you. Do it right and stick to the facts. Nobody's going to sue you for saying something nice and only in this way will intelligent readers be able to make informed decisions. When a place gets a hundred positive comments and one negative, most people can read between the lines.

For better or worse, Facebook and Yelp and Urbanspoon and the rest are here to stay. As a consumer, just consider the source when you refer to these places for “reviews” and recommendations. And if you're an aspiring “reviewer,” choose your words carefully lest you be required to eat them.

Carla Hall's Pumpkin Chocolate Cake is FANTASTIC!

A "MUST" for the Fall and Winter Holidays

Carla Hall's Pumpkin Chocolate Cake
(ABC's The Chew)

You have GOT TO try this cake, boys and girls! Carla Hall posted the recipe to ABC's The Chew as a Halloween treat. Forget Halloween! We made it for Thanksgiving and it's SO good, we're giving it a reprise at Christmas.

I did one little tweak to Carla's original recipe; she may have great luck melting chocolate over direct heat, but most people do not. Therefore, we did the double-boiler method for the ganache. And when you make the filling, be sure the pumpkin puree is very dry. Too much moisture in the filling will make it a little loose and cause the cakes to slide around. You can dowel them if necessary, but making sure the filling is tight will obviate that necessity.


PUMPKIN CHOCOLATE CAKE

For the pumpkin cake:

2 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
4 lg eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
3 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp salt
2 cups pumpkin puree

For the filling:

4 cups powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp pumpkin spice
2 cups mascarpone
1 cup pumpkin puree (strained until very dry)
2 tsp salt

For the ganache:

3 tbsp corn syrup
6 oz heavy cream
12 oz dark chocolate (small bits)
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
ginger snaps (crushed for garnish)

Preheat oven to 350°. Grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

Combine sugar, oil, and eggs in a large mixing bowl and mix well. Whisk dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Stir dry ingredients into wet until just combined. Fold in the pumpkin puree.

Divide batter between two cake pans.

Bake for 30 to 45 minutes. Rotate pans half way through cooking. Test with a toothpick. When cakes are done, allow to cool in pans 5 minutes before turning out onto cooling racks.

While the cakes are cooling, make the mascarpone filling. Beat mascarpone and pumpkin puree until blended, then add pumpkin spice, salt, and powdered sugar. Mix at high speed until blended, about 1 minute. Once fully combined, add vanilla and beat another 30 seconds.

Once cakes have completely cooled, cut through each horizontally with a serrated knife, making a total of four thin layers. Spread the filling evenly between the layers.

Once assembled, transfer the cake to a cake stand lined with parchment around the edges (to keep stand clean.)

In a double boiler over medium heat, combine corn syrup and cream and bring to a simmer. Add the chocolate. Stir until melted and smooth. Remove from heat and add vanilla extract.

Pour over cake and garnish with crushed ginger snaps.

Sweet Potatoes vs Yams

I Yam What I Yam!

You know, you would think “Iron Chefs” would really be on top of things when it comes to food, especially proper culinary terminology. Alas, such is not always the case. Take, for instance, “Iron Chef” Michael Symon. I swear, if I hear him refer to the browning of meat as “caramelizing” one more time, I'm going to throw something at the TV. Meat browns through the Maillard reaction. It does not “caramelize.” It's like he's afraid “browning” doesn't sound “cheffy” enough, so he uses the “fancy word” instead. And he's wrong. If you put a glaze of some sort on a piece of meat, something that contains sugars, and then throw that glazed meat in a pan, the sugars in the glaze will “caramelize.” Otherwise, the meat itself simply “browns.”

And I recently heard “Iron Chef” Marc Forgione, when referring to a standard Thanksgiving dish, utter the phrase, “candied yams, also known as sweet potatoes.” I can only guess he must have been absent the day they discussed yams and sweet potatoes at culinary school. Ooops, that's right......he didn't go to culinary school. But with a Michelin star to his credit, you'd think he'd know the difference, right? And there is a big difference. Here's the skinny.

The Covington Sweet Potato
(North Carolina Sweet Potato Commission)

The so-called “sweet potato,” or Ipomoea batatas” for you Latin-loving scientific types, is a member of the Morning Glory family. It's a dicotyledon, meaning its seeds have two embryonic leaves. Although widely grown in the United States, with North Carolina and Louisiana leading the sweet potato producing pack, the plant originated in the tropical regions of the Americas, around Peru and Ecuador, before migrating north, where it was being grown by natives on the Eastern coastal plain of North America when Columbus came to town.

African Yam

Yams, on the other hand, were imported to the New World from West Africa. Scientifically, they are of the Dioscorea species and occupy a plant family all their own. A yam is a monocotyledon, having only one embryonic leaf, making it more closely related to a grass than to a broad-leaf plant. And they still don't hail from these parts; their tropical growth requirements mean that the rare yams you encounter in your neighborhood specialty market probably came from somewhere in the Caribbean.

One has only to look at the two side by side to see the difference. Sweet potatoes are smooth skinned and are kind of short and round with tapered ends. They look very much like really big potatoes. Yams are downright ugly by comparison, being long and cylindrical with rough, scaly skins and funky little protuberances or “toes” all over them. And yams can grow up to eight feet in length and weigh in at a hundred pounds. Sweet potatoes weigh about a pound and top out around a foot in length. You'll know the difference in your mouth, as well. Sweet potatoes are.....well......sweet, and very moist, too. Yams are dry and starchy.

There's also a significant nutritional difference. Sweet potatoes are rich in numerous vitamins, minerals, fiber, complex carbohydrates, and of course, the beta carotene that gives them their distinct coloring. Yams are a good source of starch and not much else.


The O'Henry Sweet Potato
(North Carolina Sweet Potato Commission)

So why all the confusion between the two? It's pretty obvious they're nothing alike, right? Some people trace the muddle back to the days when African slaves worked the fields and called the root vegetable they encountered by the name they applied to the tuber with which they were most familiar; “nyami,” a word quickly Anglicized to “yam.” But it took the government to really screw things up. See, the “original” sweet potato, the one traditionally grown on the East coast, is white or whitish-yellow in color. You sometimes see them in stores labeled as “white sweet potatoes.” The orange variety now commonly associated with the name didn't actually come to prominence until some Louisiana growers popularized them in the mid-20^th century. A bad cotton crop in the 1930s turned a lot of Louisiana farmers into sweet potato producers. They wanted their product to be clearly distinguished from the plain old East coast variety, so they started calling them “yams” and petitioned the USDA to sanction that label, which it promptly did. Although, if you look at the fine print on the can, you'll find that “yams” labeled as such still have to contain the words “sweet potato” somewhere in the description. But, thanks in part to successful marketing, the orange variety soon overtook the culinary world and the terms “yam” and “sweet potato” became interchangeable in cookbooks and recipes. Nowadays, the traditional “white” sweet potato is looked upon as the odd duck in the flock – unless you're in sweet potato loving North Carolina, where it's just one among the pantheon of varieties designated as the official state vegetable of The Old North State. (The varieties include Beauregard, Covington, Carolina Rose, Carolina Ruby, Cordner, Hernandez, Jewel, O'Henry and NC Porto Rico 198. The O'Henry is the only white one in the bunch.)

White sweet potatoes are generally sweeter than the orange variety, although they are also perceived to have a milder flavor. Some people consider the whites to be drier and “mealier” than the orange. This is especially true among marketing people from Louisiana. The white potato has a softer skin than the orange, which also has a firmer, denser texture. You can tell them apart at a glance; “white” sweet potatoes have lighter skins, “orange” sweet potatoes are darker. Both are very nutritious, but the orange variety obviously has more beta carotene.

All that said, neither white nor orange sweet potatoes are truly “yams.” So if you think you've been serving candied yams at Thanksgiving all these years, you really haven't. Thanks to brilliant marketing out of Baton Rouge, they've actually been candied sweet potatoes. And an “Iron Chef” should really know the difference. I'm only a lowly “Aluminum Foil Cook” and I know. And now so do you.