Julia Child's Kitchen at the Smithsonian

A Timeless Trip Through Time

Julia Child was inarguably one of the most influential culinary figures of the 20^th century. And if you'd like to argue, let me posit this question: how many people do you know who have had their home kitchens enshrined at the Smithsonian?

In an age before the current cult of celebrity chefs, Julia's seminal Mastering the Art of French Cooking had already made her a star when she first appeared on television in 1962 doing a cooking demo on how to prepare an omelette. Inspired by that success, her first series, The French Chef, hit the airwaves on Boston's WGBH on February 11, 1963. And history, both culinary and media, were about to be made.

Julia lived near Harvard University in a house at 103 Irving Street in Cambridge, Massachusetts from 1961 until 2001. After putting up with flaws in eight previous kitchens, Julia knew exactly how she wanted this one to function. She mapped it all out and her husband, Paul, designed the kitchen to meet her needs as a place where she could not only cook for the home, but also research and develop her recipes. To that end, he raised the maple counter tops in the kitchen by two inches to accommodate Julia's towering 6' 2” height. He selected a light blue-green paint for the room's overall color scheme. Covering the walls with pegboard, Paul used a marker to outline all of Julia's numerous pots and pans, ensuring that there was a place for everything and that everything would be in its place. This comfortable, efficient space would later serve as the setting for three of Julia's TV shows. Discreet poles and brackets were added so that appropriate lighting could be hung when the shows were filming. When tape was rolling, the table and chairs made way for an island equipped with a built-in cooktop and prep surface. Everything else in the room was authentic Julia, right down to her wall oven with the squeaky door.

Paul Child died in 1994. A few years later, Julia decided to return to her native California. In August 2001, representatives of the Smithsonian Institution met with her to discuss the possibility of preserving her iconic kitchen in the National Museum of American History. Her former home near the Harvard campus still stands and is now a private residence. But the kitchen was painstakingly removed and reconstructed as a historic artifact currently on display on the ground floor of the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History: Kenneth E. Behring Center, located on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. To be clear, the kitchen you see there is not a museum replica. It is Julia's actual kitchen, complete with her appliances, cookware, furnishings, and an endless number of her favorite cooking tools and gadgets.

I was in Washington, D.C. recently and paid a visit to Julia's kitchen. It was as amazing as I expected it would be; a timeless trip through time. The 14 x 20 space, viewed through three glass viewports placed in the actual door openings that led to other rooms in the house, is like a wonderful time capsule. Julia's pots and pans are outlined and hung on pegboard just as Paul designed. There are no fancy curtains in Julia's kitchen, just simple blinds, open for viewing from the outside now, but once providing a look outward at tree-lined Irving Street. You can see an automatic icemaker tucked away in one corner, a practical necessity for keeping foods fresh during long taping sessions. Sixteen baking sheets rest in vertical slots next to the dishwasher. Oils and vinegars live on a countertop near the stove, with a variety of spices, teas, coffees, and syrups in a cabinet above. Julia liked cats in her kitchen. Maybe not real ones, but you'll see artistic representations of several spotted around the room. Although she relied on the handier electric wall-oven for her TV shows, her “big Garland” still dominates the room. Purchased used for $429 from a Washington, D.C. restaurant and shipped to Cambridge, the six-burner Garland commercial gas stove, big enough to hold two 25-pound turkeys, stands in its place near the main kitchen door. Look carefully and you'll see a handmade needlework sign that depicts Julia's famous “Bon Appetit” catchphrase displayed high on one wall. It was a gift

from a friend. My wife particularly drooled over Julia's gleaming dark blue KitchenAid stand mixer, displayed in its customary place on the counter. A KitchenAid food processor is there, too. It's the one she was using at the time of the Smithsonian's acquisition of her kitchen, having gone through several previous makes and models, including a French prototype of the Robot Coupe that she acquired in the '60s. Her Cuisinart blender is nearby. There's a large butcher's saw hanging on a wall and a huge cleaver, a personalized gift from the WGBH-TV staff. And the mezzaluna hanging up there is......quite impressive. I've got one, too, but it's nothing like that one. You'll notice a unique painting of an artichoke on the wall above the electric oven: it was done by a friend and was one of only two paintings displayed in Julia's kitchen. This one's a reproduction. The original went to Santa Barbara with Julia. Look at the bookcase full of cookbooks. Among copies of her own books and various other reference works, you can spot a copy of “The Joy of Cooking” by Irma Rombauer. Julia kept a “To-Do List” on the counter next to the phone, and yes, that's a lorgnette hanging on the wall above it. Julia used it instead of reading glasses to read fine print.

Bon Appetit! Julia Child's Kitchen at the Smithsonian serves as a centerpiece to the museum’s ongoing Food: Transforming the American Table 1950 – 2000 exhibit. Surrounding the kitchen are numerous signs and displays related to Julia's cooking, her career, and her influence on America's food scene in general. Tapes of one of her programs play on a continuous loop. There's even a life-size cut-out of Julia with which you can pose for a photo-op. (Need you ask? Of course I did.)

Also in the exhibit are areas dedicated to “New and Improved!” consumer goods; “Resetting the Table,” highlighting the immense changes Americans have experienced in what and how they eat, and in how they think and feel about food; and “Wine for the Table,” a fascinating look at American viticulture.

As with all Smithsonian properties, admission to the National Museum of American History is free. While Julia's kitchen is a great attraction, don't miss other important treasures housed at the museum, including Thomas Jefferson's desk, George Washington's uniform, Edison's light bulb, Archie and Edith's chairs from All In The Family, Dorothy's ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, the Greensboro Lunch Counter, and, of course, the Star-Spangled Banner. Allow yourself plenty of time to explore and absorb everything. The museum is home to more than three million artifacts. Going in with the idea that you can knock it out before lunch will really lessen the experience.

The National Museum of American History is located at 14^th Street and Constitution Avenue NW in Washington, DC. Open daily from 10 am to 5:30 pm, you can call the museum at (202) 633-1000 or visit the website at http://americanhistory.si.edu.

The museum offers quite a delicious plateful. As Julia would say, “Bon appetit!”

Latina News Anchor Uses CORRECT Pronunciation and Ruffles Viewers' Feathers

She Should Try Italian

An interesting story made the news cycle recently; a Latina news anchor in Arizona had the gall, the temerity, the unmitigated chutzpah to appropriately accent and correctly pronounce Spanish words on TV. And the tar was warmed and the chickens plucked by idiots who adhere to the idea that “this here is uh-MER-ica and she ort to be talkin' like a reg'lar uh-MER-ican.”

Vanessa Ruiz, a broadcaster with 12 News in Phoenix, was born to Latino parents in Miami, grew up in Colombia, studied in Spain, and traveled much of South America and Europe before starting her journalism career in the U.S. She is an intelligent, well-educated woman who understands her heritage and respects its language. And here she is being called down because she doesn't say Spanish words the way Americans – the intellectual cornerstones of modern civilization – say them.

She trips pinhead's triggers by rolling her “r”s. And she sets off lamebrain laments among the clodpoll contingent because she properly pronounces Spanish place names that local yokels long ago bastardized to fit their limited linguistic abilities. “It's MAY-suh, dammit, not MESS-ah. Talk like an American if yore gonna live in America.” Because we all know that the American way is the only correct, legitimate, flawless, inerrant, divinely ordained way to do things, right?

I can relate to her predicament. It's a battle I've been fighting on the Italian front for years. And, as Ms. Ruiz is finding out, it's an uphill fight.

Seldom has George Bernard Shaw's aphorism, “Never wrestle with a pig; you get dirty and the pig likes it” been more true than in the face of stubborn lexical resistance. People know what they know and what they know is right regardless of what you know, you know? I can't tell you how many vacant stares I've gotten from clueless servers in pseudo-Italian restaurants when I have tried to correct their egregiously incorrect pronunciation of words like “bruschetta” and “marinara.” When I explain the proper Italian pronunciations, the blank looks usually transform into simpering smiles. And I know that behind those smiles is the thought, “you poor stupid old geezer,” as if I am the benighted one in the conversation!

The sad truth is that most Americans simply don't give a cazzo volante about what they say or how they say it. As long as they can manage to grunt out a basic level of communication, the finer points of language are pointless and immaterial. They don't care, and if you try to disturb their ignorance they will resent you for it. As Ms. Ruiz is discovering.

Ms. Ruiz commented on Facebook that she was surprised her on-air remarks had led to such a “dynamic conversation.” She went on to say that she intended no disrespect. Indeed, she says her pronunciation is an attempt to offer respect to the heritage of some of Arizona's original settlers. Good luck with that tack, young lady. Timothy Hogan, executive director of the Arizona Center for Law in the Public Interest, explains, “My observation is people generally feel threatened by use of communication that they are unfamiliar with.” Bingo!

Ask Giada De Laurentiis. You know what constitutes one of the biggest criticisms haters launch against her? It's not her smile or her cleavage or, most recently, her relationship status. It's the way she pronounces Italian words. People don't like the way she says “spaghetti.” Could her pronunciation be the result of being born in Rome to an Italian family? Ya think? Doesn't matter. People still get all up in her face about it because they believe she is being “uppity” or “pretentious.” Yeah. I hear that one a lot, too. Comes with the territory when your vocabulary is made up of words containing more than one syllable.

One of my favorite excuses for the mangling of Italian words – or any other “foreign” language – is the old “common usage” chestnut. That fallacy holds that an incorrectly pronounced word becomes correct through repetition and common usage. In other words, if enough people say something wrong, it becomes right. My response to that inanity comes from French novelist, journalist, and poet Anatole France, “If fifty million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing.”

And the “language is a living thing, always growing and evolving” theory may explain recent additions to the OED like “jeggings” and “staycation” and “twerk,” but it still doesn't excuse the outright mispronunciation of legitimate words.

Americans harbor the conceit that they invented English and that their version of the language is the only valid and correct one. Just look at all the funny things those stupid people from England say. You'd think they'd learn how to speak proper English, wouldn't you? Everybody knows that “can't” rhymes with “ant,” not whatever silly way they say it in England. And how dare all those foreigners from France and Spain and Italy – excuse me, “IT-ly” – all come over here and try to tell us that we are pronouncing their words wrong! The ungrateful so-and-sos. They'd all be speaking German if it wasn't for us, so they can just take what we say and like it.

Come to think of it, the name “America” itself is based on an Italian name, that of Amerigo Vespucci,.......and it's mispronounced by the majority of Americans. Listen to the way the “Sharks” sing it in West Side Story. The members of the Puerto Rican gang pronounce it perfectly. Not that I realistically expect anybody to start saying “ah-MEH-ree-cah” anytime soon, but there it is.

Now, the hot button issue of speaking foreign languages in America is a whole different argument. Although English is the traditionally predominant language in the United States, the country, in fact, has no “official” or “state” language. (Apparently, at least one of the dimmer bulbs on the political Christmas tree thinks that “American” is a language of its own and that Americans should speak “American,” but.......consider the source.) However since English is the predominant language here, its usage should be encouraged, if not mandated. My mother spoke no English when she started school in the U.S. in the 1920s. Now, the current PC way of handling that situation would be to change all the school's signage to something more “inclusive” and to provide Mom with textbooks written in her own language. But in those unenlightened days, rather than forcing everyone in the school to learn her language, she was made to learn theirs before she could advance. And that's the way it should be.

All of which rather circuitously leads me back to my main point: English is English, Spanish is Spanish, Italian is Italian, etc. Every language is “correct” within itself. But when non-native speakers attempt them, that's where the trouble starts because some people are simply not capable of assimilating speech that is not their own. When my sister was learning Spanish, a woman in her class, frustrated with her own ineptitude, put her finger on the problem when she said, “My Southern tongue just won't wrap itself around some of those words.” Some people can't roll an “r” to save their lives, and certain vowel sounds and consonant combinations are just beyond their comprehension. And those are the very people most likely to mangle a word from another language and justify the abuse by declaring, “Well, that's the way we say it in America.” 

And therein lies the crux of my issue: so-called “foreign” words are either right or they are wrong. They are either correctly rendered in the manner of those who speak them as a native tongue, or they are incorrect. There is no “American way” of saying an Italian word. Or a Spanish one. Or an Armenian one. Such words are either correctly pronounced as they would be by native speakers, or they are incorrect. Only in America do we have the hubris to take another culture's language, twist it out of shape, and then tell the native speaker that he or she is wrong. When a “foreigner” mispronounces an English word, it's funny. Everybody laughs at his accent and he is ridiculed and stigmatized as being unintelligent. But when an American screws up a word in somebody else's language.....“well, that's the way we say that word in America.”

Bravissima, Vanessa Ruiz. Or should I say muy bueno? You keep right on rolling those “r”s and correctly pronouncing those Spanish words. Don't back down, don't give up, and don't dumb yourself down for the sake of the plebeian ignorant. I'm with you, mia sorella, every step of the way.

Say.......how'd you like to try your hand at Italian?

Obscure Origins Of Famous Sandwiches

Fit For A King......Or At Least An Earl

Consider the sandwich. More than just a quick and convenient form of immediate nourishment, it's a meal you can hold in your hand.

The concept of what we consider a “sandwich” has been around for a long time. Ancient Hebrew tradition holds that back between the years 30 BC and 10 AD, one of the most important figures in Jewish history, the religious leader Hillel the Elder, took slices of meat from a Passover lamb and some bitter herbs and wrapped them between two slices of matzah. And “open-faced” sandwiches were common in much of Europe during the Middle Ages. Food was frequently eaten in “trenchers,” which were basically hollowed out loaves of bread. But according to legend, it took the Earl of Sandwich to give a definitive name to the marriage of bread and meat.

England's 4^th Earl of Sandwich, John Montagu, is reported to have had something of a gambling problem. He'd settle in at the gaming tables for marathon stretches. In 1762, not wanting to be interrupted by so pedestrian an activity as eating, he ordered his cook to come up with something he could consume without having to get out of his seat. The clever cook slapped some meat between slices of bread and served it to the earl, who was so delighted by the concoction that it quickly became his favorite thing to eat. Owing to his position in British society, it wasn't long before the cook's on-the-fly idea acquired a name: the Montagu! No, seriously, it became known as the “sandwich.” Soon after the Earl's gambling binge, a fellow by the name of Edward Gibbon penned in his diary that he had seen “twenty or thirty of the first men of the kingdom” eating “sandwiches,” as he called them, in a London restaurant.

By the time of the American Revolution, the sandwich was well established in England, but no much in the Colonies. The rebellious colonists were not enamored of things British, you see, and it wasn't until 1815, many years after memories of the guns of war had faded, that a sandwich recipe appeared in an American cookbook. In case you were wondering, that sandwich wasn't good ol' American peanut butter and jelly; it was beef tongue. Peanut butter and jelly came along about a hundred years later.

In fact, peanut butter used to be considered a high-priced commodity. It was originally combined with things like pimento or watercress and served at fancy tea parties. But as commercial peanut processing got better, peanut butter got cheaper and by the time national brands like Peter Pan and Skippy were introduced in the 1920s and '30s, mothers all across the country were packing peanut butter sandwiches in children's lunches. Peanut butter was one of the few things not rationed during WWII, making it a great alternative source of protein. Because of that, peanut butter was issued to GIs during the war. So was jelly. It is said that enterprising soldiers put the two together and an American classic was born. At least, that's the legend. Ask older folks, though, especially those who lived out in the country, and they'll recall their moms mixing peanut butter and jelly back during the days of the Depression as a means of stretching scarce food resources. But whether it was frugal mothers or inventive soldiers who created it, PB&J is now iconic in American culture.

So, in no particular order, let's have a look at some other famous iterations of the Earl's namesake.

The Dagwood

Once upon a time, practically everybody knew who Dagwood Bumstead was. Married to Blondie Boopadoop on February 17, 1933, Dagwood became an international sensation on the newspaper comic pages before moving on to movie and radio stardom. And he also laid claim to a bit of culinary notoriety as the inventor of the eponymous “Dagwood Sandwich.”

The way “Chic” Young created and drew Dagwood, he was fairly inept at nearly everything. The one thing, however, at which he excelled was going into the kitchen, especially at night, and precariously piling mountains of various leftovers between slices of bread. The huge sandwiches the character created on his nocturnal refrigerator raids became known as “Dagwood sandwiches,” a term which even made it into the dictionary.

Now, Young was never specific about exactly what Dagwood put into those gargantuan multi-layered sandwiches, but they most often appear to be huge amounts of cold cuts, cheeses, and vegetables, slathered in condiments and stacked on and between numerous slices of bread, all topped off by an olive skewered through with a toothpick.

Several attempts at capitalizing on Blondie and Dagwood's popularity as food icons have been mounted over the years. A Dagwood-themed restaurant opened in Toledo in 1951, but was forced to close by the King Features syndicate, who sued over licensing issues. A similar attempt, made by a Michigan entrepreneur who circumvented the syndicate by hyphenating “Dag-Wood”, hung around into the early 1970s. Dagwood's image has been legitimately licensed to a product line of packaged lunch meats, and a “Blondie”-themed restaurant chain named “Dagwood's Sandwich Shoppes” was launched in 2006. The “Dagwood sandwich,” as served there, consists of three slices of deli bread, Genoa salami, ham, pepperoni, turkey, cheddar cheese, provolone, lettuce, tomato, roasted red bell peppers, banana peppers, red onion, deli mustard, and low-calorie mayonnaise. It weighs in at a pound-and-a-half.

The Reuben

The Reuben sandwich is often hailed as the ultimate New York deli sandwich. But some say it didn't originate in New York City or anywhere else in the Empire State, for that matter. Nope. It came straight out of the Midwest. Omaha, Nebraska, to be exact.

Like the Earl of Sandwich, Lithuanian-born Omaha grocer Reuben Kulakofsky was apparently quite a poker player. And he had a lot of poker playing pals, who called themselves “the committee,” and who, also like the Earl, preferred not to interrupt the game to eat. So in the 1920s, Reuben concocted a sandwich for his gambling buddies at the Blackstone Hotel and eventually convinced hotel owner Charles Schimmel to put it on the menu. A former hotel waitress entered and won a national recipe contest with Reuben's sandwich in the 1950s and it soon became popular all over the country.

But hold on a minute! New Yorkers have their own version of the tale to tell and it involves Arnold Reuben, the German-born owner of New York City's famous “Reuben's Delicatessen.” He claims to have invented the “Reuben Special” back in 1914 and his claim is backed by a print reference to the “Reuben Special” in a 1926 edition of “Theatre Magazine.”

Regardless of pedigree, the classic Reuben sandwich is a hot sandwich comprised of corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and Russian dressing, all grilled between slices of rye bread.

The Club

Trying to pin down the origin of the Club sandwich is like trying to herd cats. The classic sandwich that was an avowed favorite of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, the former King Edward VIII and his wife, Wallis Simpson, likely got its name because it was popular at hotels, resorts, and country clubs all over the world. But which one gets first dibs?

The place that also gave us the potato chip lays an early claim. Popular theory attributes creation of the Club sandwich to the famous Saratoga Club-House in Saratoga Springs, New York. An exclusive “gentlemen only” gambling establishment, where neither women nor locals were permitted in the gambling rooms, it was originally called Morrissey's Club House. In 1894, it was purchased by Richard Canfield and became known as “Canfield's Casino.”

An unattributed recipe for the Club sandwich appears a few years later in the 1903 “Good Housekeeping Everyday Cook Book,” authored by Isabel Gordon Curtis. That recipe describes the Club Sandwich thusly: “Toast a slice of bread evenly and lightly butter it. On one half put, first, a thin slice of bacon which has been broiled till dry and tender, next a slice of the white meat of either turkey or chicken. Over one half of this place a circle cut from a ripe tomato and over the other half a tender leaf of lettuce. Cover these with a generous layer of mayonnaise, and complete this delicious 'whole meal' sandwich with the remaining piece of toast.”

The 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis gets credit for popularizing an astonishing variety of foods. Hot dogs, hamburgers, ice cream cones, banana splits, Dr. Pepper, cotton candy, and peanut butter are just a few of the everyday comestibles launched at the Fair. The Club sandwich got a boost, too, with four of the Fair's restaurants featuring a version on their menus.

A couple of early published references from the nineteen-teens and '20s credit an ordinary working man with the development of the Club sandwich. According to these sources, a guy came home late one night and found that the family had already eaten and gone off to bed. So he did what guys do: he raided the pantry and the icebox, the forerunner of the modern refrigerator. He made some toast. Then he slathered it with butter and mayonnaise. He found a couple of slices of cooked bacon and some cold chicken. A tomato looked pretty good, and he topped it all with another slice of buttered toast. Then he told his buddies at “the club” about his creation, and so was born the “Club sandwich.”

Of course, contemporary Club sandwiches are “double-deckers,” and some of the experts who study such things believe that the “double-decker” Club sandwich originated on the double-decker club cars of American trains back in the 1930s and '40s.

Apparently, you can make a Club sandwich out of almost anything. I've seen them packed with hummus, avacado, and even Dungeness crab meat. But the “classic” Club consists of toasted white bread, lettuce, tomato, bacon, thinly sliced chicken, and mayonnaise. Sometimes ham and/or cheese are added and maybe some mustard. The sandwich is usually constructed as a “double-decker,” having two layers separated by an additional slice of toasted bread.

The “Dean of American Cookery,” James Beard, had definite opinions on many food-related topics, including the Club sandwich. In 1972's “James Beard's American Cookery” he wrote: “. . . it is one of the great sandwiches of all time and has swept its way around the world after an American beginning. Nowadays the sandwich is bastardized because it is usually made as a three-decker, which is not authentic (whoever started that horror should be forced to eat three-deckers three times a day the rest of his life), and nowadays practically everyone uses turkey and there's a vast difference between turkey and chicken where sandwiches are concerned.”

The Grinder/Submarine/Hoagie/etc., etc.

This is a sandwich that really got around. Instead of slices of loaf bread, the base for the sandwich is a split roll, usually a long roll of some sort. The roll is then filled with a variety of meats, cheeses, vegetables, seasonings, and sauces. Nearly everybody who researches such things agrees that the sandwich is Italian in origin. Or, at least, it started with Italian immigrants.

The main issue with this sandwich is not who invented it or what it's made of; the bigger issue is what to call it. To some it's a “Po' Boy.” Many dub it a “Grinder.” Others call it a “Hoagie.” Some folks prefer “Hero,” while still others refer to it as a “Sub” or “Submarine.” If you really want to go off the deep end, you can call it a “Spuckie,” a “Blimpie,” a “Wedge,” or a “Bomber.” In some places it's a “Torpedo” or a “Zep,” shortened from “zeppelin.” To further add to the confusion, some folks think it's a “Dagwood.” In many instances, what you call it depends largely on where you're standing when you order it. Earlier, I alluded to herding cats. Well, this one is like herding spastic cats on acid. But here goes.

Most authorities agree that the “Po' Boy” came first. What they don't agree on is how the term “Po' Boy” came into being. That it originated in New Orleans is pretty much universally accepted. From there you have the Benny and Clovis Martin supporters. The Martins, streetcar conductors turned restaurateurs, supposedly invented the sandwich in 1929 for former colleagues who were striking against the streetcar company. They allegedly referred to their customers as “them poor boys,” which, in Louisiana dialect, translated to “po' boys,” and the name just kind of stuck to the sandwich. Other folks insist that dialect did play a part, but that the “boys” in question were literally poor and the sandwich was something which a “po' boy” could afford. The Martin supporters usually have the edge in the debate.

When the sandwich migrated to New England, it picked up a number of new names, the most common of which were “grinder” and “submarine.” The “submarine” appellation, later shortened to just “sub,” came about because the sandwiches looked kind of like......well, like submarines. Another theory holds that the sandwich picked up the name because of its popularity among workers at the Navy yards in Groton, Connecticut, a place where submarines were made. Here's where those spastic cats come in: the sandwich was supposedly invented by an Italian shopkeeper named Benedetto Capaldo, who called it a “grinder” because that was a slang term for the local dockworkers who were among his biggest customers. This version of the story says that because most of those “grinders” worked on submarines, the term “submarine sandwich” came into vogue. One way or another, submersible vehicles were involved.

Another entry posits the notion that the sandwich was a favorite among a particular type of “grinder,” the one in charge of rounding off rivet heads. The term “grinder” is also said to have been added to the lexicon because the bread was so crusty and chewy that it took a lot of “grinding” to eat it.

I've seen some who date the “submarine” sandwich specifically to WWII. Others insist that it was a product of the '50s. To both I present the 1940 phone book for Wilmington, Delaware wherein an advertisement was placed for “submarine sandwiches to take out.”

“Hoagie” supposedly got its name thanks to Italian shipyard workers on Philadelphia's Hog Island. (Say “hog” with an Italian accent and you'll get it.) It is also said to have Irish roots taken from the name “Hogan,” either used as a slang term for Irish dockworkers or from an actual Irishman of that name whose wife apparently made killer Italian sandwiches. Still another theory holds that back in the 1920s, a Philadelphia jazz musician, later turned sandwich shop owner, named Al De Palma saw some fellow musicians chowing down on a big sandwich. He supposedly said to himself “you gotta be a hog” to eat a sandwich that big. So, naturally, when he opened his sandwich shop in the '30s, he dubbed his big sandwiches “hoggies.” And, speaking of jazz musicians, the sandwich was in no way related to the great “Hoagy” Carmichael, whose first name was Howard and whose middle name was “Hoagland.” Another Philadelphia “hoagie” theory has to do with “hokey-pokey men.” No, they weren't guys who spent all their time putting their left foot in and taking their left foot out. They were early-twentieth-century street vendors. Why that made them "hokey-pokey men" is beyond explanation. Anyway, the story goes that when Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta “H.M.S. Pinafore” opened in Philadelphia in 1879, local bakeries commemorating the event produced a special long loaf called the “pinafore.” And the "hokey-pokey men" sliced the loaf in half, stuffed it with antipasto salad, and sold the world's first "hoagie" sandwich. Another fringe theory out of South Philly says that among Italian immigrants there, the phrase "on the hoke" was a slang term used to describe a destitute person. Supposedly, kindly shop owners would give away scraps of meat and cheese in an Italian roll known as a "hokie", but since there's no letter “k” in the Italian alphabet, the local immigrants pronounced it "hoagie." Which sounds like a lot of hokey-pokey to me.

The other funky names I mentioned represent regional variations on the same theme. “Spuckie” is native to Boston, where it derived from the Italian word “spucadella,” a kind of Italian roll. “Blimpie's” come out of Hoboken, the “Torpedo” and the “Zep” are Pennsylvania natives, the “Bomber” hails from Buffalo, and the “Wedge” is specific to Westchester County, New York and adjacent Fairfield County, Connecticut. The story goes that the Italian owner of a Yonkers deli got tired of saying “sandwich” and shortened it to “wedge.”

Another example of pronunciation possibly influencing the name of a sandwich comes from the “Hero.” Now, I read something about people calling it a “hero” because it was such a big sandwich that it took heroic effort to eat it. That story can be traced to New York Herald Tribune columnist Clementine Paddleworth who penned the comment in 1936. But the Greeks had (and have) a sandwich called the “gyro.” Americans have a strange proclivity toward anglicizing anything and everything that they can't otherwise pronounce, so that sandwich got mutilated as “JY-roh.” But the proper Greek pronunciation is closer to “hero.” The flaw in that theory is that “heroes” have been around since the '30s and '40s, but “gyros” didn't really catch on in America much before the '60s. One more kind of whacked-out theory, but one that appears to have some legitimate basis in scholarly research, proposes that the term was actually part of the jargon of armored car guards who used “hero” to describe a really big sandwich. Take your pick. I like the Greek option.

The Muffuletta

Back to the home of the Po' Boy we go for the origin of the Muffuletta. The pedigree of that one, at least, leaves no doubt: it's Italian. Specifically, Sicilian. It is said to have originated at the Central Grocery in the French Quarter of New Orleans, where owner Salvatore Lupo sold salami, ham, cheese, olive salad, and either long braided Italian bread or a round muffuletta loaf to Sicilian immigrant farmers who sold their produce at the nearby Farmers Market. The farmers ate everything separately while sitting on crates or barrels and balancing their lunches on their knees. Salvatore suggested cutting the bread and putting everything on it in a decidedly non-Sicilian sandwich style. The farmers rejected the thick braided loaf in favor of the softer, rounder muffuletta loaf, and a new sandwich was born.

The traditional muffuletta is a cold sandwich consisting of the bread, split horizontally and covered with layers of marinated olive salad, mortadella, salami, mozzarella, ham, and provolone. Some vendors heat the sandwich in order to melt the cheese.

I was going to tell you all about hamburgers, but for some reason I'm suddenly very hungry. And there's fresh-baked bread and ham and cheese and Benton's bacon and a bunch of other stuff calling to me from the kitchen. So maybe next time, okay?

A Recipe for Cacio e Pepe

Simple and Delicious

Whenever most Americans think of Italian food, especially pasta dishes, more often than not images of heaping piles of noodles buried under a quart of red sauce come to mind. And that's unfortunate because it is so stereotypical and so inaccurate.

To be sure, Italians love their pasta, often eating it twice a day. But the love affair with tomato sauce does not run so deep. In fact, a great many of the pasta dishes Italians frequently enjoy are made with nothing more than olive oil or butter, cheese, and a few herbs, spices, and seasonings. Served in moderate portions, they are light, satisfying, and delicious.

Pasta Cacio e Pepe is one such dish. A favorite in Rome, “cacio e pepe” simply means “cheese and pepper.” And that's all there is to this wonderful dish. It is usually made with long, thin pasta, such as spaghetti or linguine. The Roman classic is often made with tonnarelli, a kind of square spaghetti better known, perhaps, by its popular Abruzzese name, “spaghetti alla chitarra.” It's a fresh made pasta not usually found in supermarkets, so substitutions of dried pasta are acceptable.

As with any Italian dish, quality counts. You absolutely will not get the best results from the cheapest ingredients you can find. This is especially true of the pasta. Cheap store-brand or off-brand pastas are often made with inferior grades of wheat or are adulterated with fillers that will adversely affect the way they cook up. Mushy, overcooked spaghetti will ruin any dish. I recommend De Cecco or Barilla, although other quality Italian pastas can be found online or in specialty shops.

And also as with any Italian dish, there are as many “authentic” ways to make it as there are cooks preparing it. Here's the way I've made it for many years, and its never done me wrong. In fact, I made some night before last.

For my version of “PASTA CACIO E PEPE,” you'll need:

12 oz long pasta (spaghetti, linguine, bucatini)

6 tbsp unsalted butter, cubed, divided

1 ½ cups grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano

1/3 cup grated Pecorino Romano

1 ½ - 2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

½ cup reserved pasta cooking water

salt

A lot of cooks just use Pecorino Romano, and that's fine. I like the blend of Pecorino and either Grana or Parmigiano. Each brings a nice flavor element to the table. Real Pecorino Romano is a sheep's milk cheese, although what usually lives on American supermarket shelves is made from cow's milk. Grana Padano can be very difficult to find and Parmigiano-Reggiano is expensive. I always use Parmigiano-Reggiano when I can't find the less expensive Grana Padono, but if a domestic Parmesan cheese is all you can get, go with it. Just make sure you never, ever, ever, ever use the cheese-flavored sawdust that comes in a green plastic or cardboard can under the “Parmesan” label. That, coupled with cheap pasta, will produce an inedible dish.

For the butter in this dish, I prefer European-style butter, which has a higher butterfat content and a richer flavor. Kerrygold Irish Butter is good, as is Plugra and a new entry into the market made by Land o' Lakes. Just make sure it's unsalted, because you want to be able to balance the saltiness of the dish yourself.

I'll mention here that some recipes call for a mix of butter and extra-virgin olive oil. That's great. I make it that way sometimes. This recipe is just a little simpler.

And do try to use freshly ground black pepper. The pre-ground stuff just isn't as good. I know two teaspoons sounds like a lot, but it really isn't for this dish. In fact, it's probably a little light by some standards.

Finally, reserved pasta water is essential to the success of this and many other Italian pasta dishes. The starchy, salty water helps develop the “sauce” and the finished product won't be the same without it.

Now, here's what you do:

Cook the pasta in plenty of boiling salted water, according to package directions. And I do mean plenty – four or five quarts – and salted – two or three tablespoons.

While the pasta cooks, melt half the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the pepper and cook, swirling the pan, for about a minute. Add a little of the pasta water and bring to a simmer.

Once the pasta is al dente, add it to the pan along with the remaining butter. I use tongs or one of those “spaghetti spoons” designed to lift and drain pasta. A little extra water on the pasta won't hurt. Reduce the heat to low and add the Parmesan or Grana Padano. Stir and toss, then remove from the heat and add in the Pecorino. Stir and toss again until all the cheeses melt. Season with salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately in warmed dishes.

Serves 4

Buon appetito!

Should Restaurants Be “No Phone” Zones?

Either the Height of Rudeness or the Depth of Sadness

I recently went off on an epic rant regarding cell phones in theaters. You really should read it if you haven't already. :-)

Now it's time for a discussion of my second favorite place to ditch the device: restaurants.

Okay, before you all develop a bad case of trichotillomania (look it up), let me qualify that statement. As a society, we have gotten so all-fired addicted to our cellphones, especially the “smart”ones, that they've become like a natural extension of ourselves. I saw some sci-fi pic once where, in the future, the damn things would actually be grafted into our hands. For some people, it seems like that future is already a reality.

Brian X. Chen, author of “Always On,” a book about constant connectivity, when asked about phone addiction, says, “There are legitimate concerns for people and their everyday interactions. It’s generally rude to keep looking at your smartphone when you’re at dinner with your friends, for example. When you’re in a relationship, and you’re spending more time with your smartphone than you are with your partner, then you probably have a problem.”

Look, I'm as guilty as the next person of pulling out my iPhone and checking the news or the weather or the sports scores or reading a book while I'm sitting by myself at a table. In the “old days,” it would have been a newspaper or a magazine or an actual book. Nothing wrong with that if you're dining solo. What else are you supposed to do? Stare out the window? And I am equally guilty of making or taking a call when I'm eating by myself in a restaurant. But there are provisos involved.

Proviso number one, when talking on my phone in a crowded public environment, I keep my conversation short and quiet. And for cryin' out loud, I keep it private. The guy at the next table doesn't care, nor does he need to know, about what I'm supposed to pick up at the grocery store on my way home. I don't have to tell the couple seated behind me about the movie I saw last night. And I don't need to inflict my religious and/or political beliefs on a room full of complete strangers. When it comes to such things, my best advice is chiudi il cazzo di boccaccia! (Look that one up, too.) And don't get me started on the morons who actually turn on their speakerphones in a public place. That kind of stupid is beyond explanation.

Proviso number two applies to non-verbal phone usage. I don't play games on my phone, but I recognize that many people do. And I hope they recognize that I don't want to hear the “beeps” and “boops” and “zaps” and “zings” and the annoying music that accompanies most of them over at my table. Mute the sound, please. And if I'm texting or reading and the server comes by to check on me, I put the phone down and interact with the person. The only thing that might qualify as more rude than not at least making eye contact with the individual serving you would be keeping that person waiting to take your order while you finish whatever molto importante business you are conducting on your phone in their place of business. Ignorant, rude, patronizing, condescending, and a whole bunch of similar adjectives. Contrary to what your benighted reconstructed or deconstructed hippie parents taught you, you are not the center of the universe. Live with it.

These provisos apply to solo situations, of course. All bets are off when you're with other people. Regardless of whether it's a group of friends, your family, or your significant other.......keep your damn phone in your pocket! Or in its case, or wherever. To see two people.....or four, or six.....seated together at a table and completely ignoring one another as they peck away at their invasive little devices is either the height of rudeness or the depth of sadness. I haven't quite figured out which. As Chen said, “it’s generally rude to keep looking at your smartphone when you’re at dinner with your friends.”

Let's go back in time thirty years or so. If you were seated at a restaurant with three of your friends and they all pulled out a book or a magazine and sat there in silence, totally absorbed and completely disconnected from you and everything around you, that would have been seen as pretty weird, right? Nowadays, it's the thing. Perfectly normal. The fact that they may actually be texting with other people seated at the same table is considered fully acceptable. That's just freaky. When you can instantly connect with people across town or around the world, they call that “social media.” But how “social” is it when you can't connect with the person or people across the table?

Again, I'm somewhat guilty of being quick on the draw with my iPhone in restaurants and public places when in the company of others. But with restrictions and reservations. If we are discussing something and a question comes up that nobody can answer, I'll pull out my phone and Google it. If we're looking at the sky clouding up and wondering if we need to hustle, I'll bring up the radar on my Weather Channel app. But I will absolutely not start playing games or checking Facebook or texting somebody else. That is so unspeakably discourteous and impolite to the people you are with. It screams to them, “you're not important enough to be deserving of my full attention.”

On another level, restaurant owners complain about all the wannabe food critics constantly running around snapping pictures of their food to post on Facebook and Instagram and the like, often disturbing other patrons who are just there to eat (imagine!) and frequently getting in the way of employees trying to do their jobs. And yet, of course, the restaurants themselves are enabling and facilitating this anti-social social behavior by providing free Wi-Fi access to the very customers they are complaining about abusing smartphones in their establishments. Go figure.

One restaurant, though, is bucking the trend. Okay, it's in Kuala Lumpur, but the revolution's got to start somewhere, I suppose. And, naturally, it's an Italian restaurant. Antonio's Trattoria Calabria is a Wi-Fi free zone. And they inform their customers about it right up front with this droll little note posted right in the middle of the menu: "WE DO NOT HAVE Wi-Fi.” The notice goes on to quote a pertinent newspaper article: “'Malaysians are beginning to find out that their addiction to smartphones can lead to a host of problems. On top of the list are family meals where members hardly talk to each other as their attention is focused on the smartphones.' - The Star (February 12, 2012)" The reason for the policy was explained by the restaurant owner, "Something was very wrong: the sight of a family or a group of friends sitting down to a meal, with each person glued to his or her smartphone. Is that something we really wanted to encourage?"

Bravo, Antonio's! Hai tutto il mio rispetto!

Unfortunately, it's kind of a two-edged sword. By not providing Wi-Fi, a restaurant risks alienating someone like me who likes to sit quietly and read while dining alone. At the same time, providing Wi-Fi fosters continued disrespect in people who are already completely lacking in the social graces when it comes to interacting with others. So what's the answer? Maybe it can be found in the rest of the note posted on Antonio's menu. “While you're at Antonio's, enjoy the simple pleasure of a good conversation. Talk. Laugh. Eat. Enjoy.”

Yeah, I know. That's likely to have as much effect on entitled ignoramuses as those “Please Silence Your Cellphones and Refrain From Texting” notices posted on movie screens. But even if it only inspires a few people to put down the phone and pick up the conversation, it's a good start. And if those inspired few have kids who can be similarly influenced......well, maybe the trend can be reversed. At this stage in our arrested social development, it might be a task that is both Herculean and Sisyphean, but what's the harm in trying? Put down the phone, look across the table, and talk to the person or people you're with. Who knows? You might find that you actually like them.

Oh! A new cat video on Facebook! Sorry, that's much more important than talking to any of you. I'm gonna go watch this. BBFN!  

The Secret to Weight Loss? Exercise and All the Coca-Cola You Can Drink

Just Ask the “Experts” On Coke's Payroll

Let's face it, virtues are no fun. Chastity, diligence, charity, patience, kindness, humility, temperance? BOR-ING! Ah, but vices! Those are a blast! Pride, envy, sloth, greed, wrath, lust, gluttony – especially gluttony. Where would we be as a society today without gluttony?

A few killjoys out there say we'd all be slimmer, trimmer, and healthier. These Debbie Downers would have us believe that we can beat back diabetes and bust obesity by not filling our faces with kajillions of unnecessary empty calories like the kind you find in snack foods and sugar-saturated soft drinks. These spoilsports would piss on our parade by telling us that we can't be healthy if we keep chowing down on potato chips and cookies and candy bars and guzzling gallons of syrupy beverages.

“Pish-posh,” says a new panel of “experts.” “What a load of hooey! Our latest research reveals that the doomsayers put wa-a-ay too much emphasis on diet. Exercise, exercise, exercise! That's the real key. Lots of activity. And if all that exercise and activity makes you a little thirsty, just slug down a couple of liters of Coke and you'll be refreshed, satisfied, and healthy as a horse.”

Did I mention that these new “experts” are on the payroll of the Coca-Cola Company? Yeah.

Well, they didn't actually say the part about slugging down Coke, but it was inferred from what they did say, which was, “Most of the focus in the popular media and in the scientific press is, ‘Oh they’re eating too much, eating too much, eating too much’ — blaming fast food, blaming sugary drinks and so on. And there’s really virtually no compelling evidence that that, in fact, is the cause.”

That drivel dribbled from the lips of University of South Carolina professor Steven N. Blair, a so-called “exercise scientist” acting as front man for the newly formed – and Coca-Cola funded – Global Energy Balance Network. This New Age-sounding, supposedly non-profit group cites two research papers that say there is “strong evidence” that the key to preventing weight gain is not reducing food intake, but “maintaining an active lifestyle and eating more calories.” The fine print on each scholarly treatise comes in the form of a footnote that reads: “The publication of this article was supported by The Coca-Cola Company.”

Does this sound the least little bit like the same rhetoric that has always flown around tobacco-related health issues? “Scientists,” operating under the aegis of R.J. Reynolds, who flatly state that there is no “evidence” linking cigarettes to cancer?

So let me see if I've got this straight: decades and decades of research by thousands and thousands of doctors, dieticians, nutritionists, food scientists, and a cadre of other folks with lots of letters after their names is now to be disregarded? Research in which a balance of healthy diet and adequate physical activity are promoted as critical to overall well-being is now being kicked to the curb by a handful of shills in the employ of a major soft drink manufacturer?

Dr. Blair and his cohorts stridently deny being on the dole from Coke. Certainly, the fact that the soda giant donated millions towards the outfit's startup should be irrelevant. As should the $3.5 million in funding Dr. Blair has received from Coke over the last few years to fund his “research.” And should we be in any way suspicious of the one million dollar “unrestricted monetary gift” that Coca-Cola gave to Dr. James O. Hill, a professor at the the University of Colorado School of Medicine and the group’s president? Oh, the money actually went to the University of Colorado Foundation, but when faced with a request made under the Colorado Open Records Act, the school said that Coke had provided the money “for the purposes of funding” the Global Energy Balance Network. And the money that Coca-Cola supplied to Gregory A. Hand, currently dean of the West Virginia University School of Public Health and a former USC crony of Blair? Well, that $806,500 for an “energy flux” study in 2011 and the $507,000 supplied last year to establish the Global Energy Balance Network should in no way be construed as influence. Hand says, “It makes perfect sense that companies would want the best science that they can get.” Would that be the same thing as the best science money can buy?

Nor should it be in any way suspect that the group's website is registered to Coca-Cola's Atlanta headquarters and that Coke is also listed as the site's administrator. President Hill deflects that contention by stating that the only reason Coke is in charge of all that web stuff is because nobody in his group knew how to register a website.

Wait! Wait un fottuto minuto! This guy, this “professor,” this “doctor,” this man who wants us to believe in his pazzo proclamation regarding our health is going to stand there with his cazzo faccia hanging out and tell us that among all the learned gentlemen involved in his endeavor, not one of them has the knowledge and ability that my thirteen-year-old niece has to set up and maintain a website?! What kind of idioti does he think he's dealing with?

And speaking of that website, the Network forgot to mention any affiliation with Coca-Cola or any funding therefrom until somebody pinned their ass to the mat over it. Then they started spouting stuff like, “They’re not running the show. We’re running the show.” And, “As soon as we discovered that we didn’t have not only Coca-Cola but other funding sources on the website, we put it on there. Does that make us totally corrupt in everything we do?”

Short answer? Yes.

Unlike the esteemed Dr. Blair, I'm no scientist. I don't think I've ever even played one on TV. But I do have a BS detector, and it's emitting an earsplitting tone right now. “Virtually” no evidence, he says? How about some literal evidence, then. It takes about an hour to walk off a twenty-ounce bottle of Coke. If you consume a 2- liter bottle – like a lot of people do – that's about three-and-a-half hours of walking. Hey, I've got better things to do with three-and-a-half hours. You know how long it takes my body to process an equivalent amount of water with a little lemon? About as long as it takes for a couple of trips to the bathroom. Come back and talk to me, “Dr.” Blair, after Coke removes its hand from your pocket.

Actually, Doc, I'm thinking of investing in a company that makes screen doors for submarines. I need you and your pals to churn out a couple of scholarly papers citing something other than an excess of water as the reason boats sink. Downplay the whole screen door thing and concentrate on a lack of positive buoyancy and inverse ratios and all that other scientific stuff. You know, obfuscate. Or, in simpler terms, if you can't dazzle 'em with brilliance, baffle 'em with bullshit.

Of course, Coke has a carefully measured response to the whole imbroglio, citing their “long history” of supporting scientific research related to their beverages and topics such as energy balance. “We partner with some of the foremost experts in the fields of nutrition and physical activity,” Coke's statement says. “It’s important to us that the researchers we work with share their own views and scientific findings, regardless of the outcome, and are transparent and open about our funding.” Uh-huh. Would it surprise you that a recent analysis of studies funded by Coke, Pepsi, the American Beverage Association and the sugar industry found that such studies were five times more likely to find no link between sugary drinks and weight gain than studies not funded by companies with a stake in the results?

“Transparent” seems to be a good buzzword here. Coke touts transparency in its statement and the Global Energy Balance Network says it has no problem with accepting funding from Coca-Cola because they are being so “transparent” about it. Of course, that transparency only came about after somebody forced them to wash their windows.

Ever since soft drink sales started heading for the precipice in the 1990s, Coke has been flogging the idea that obesity has nothing to do with consuming empty calories. They would have you believe that if you just go out and run a couple of extra laps, you can swill down all the Coke you want and never gain an ounce. Kind of like smoking all the cigarettes you want is okay as long as you don't inhale. And you can't blame them. After all, they're in the business of pandering to gluttony. Nobody “needs” a Coke, you know. And when people start bringing all that annoying temperance onto the playing field, well......the company's got to do something. And so they've funded a scholarly “network ” of abettors and buffoons to make their case for them, all under the auspices of “science.”

Don't buy it, folks. Don't drink the Kool-Aid.......or, in this case, the Coca-Cola. These are not independent scientists operating with your health and welfare at heart. They are a gaggle of geese honking out a corporate philosophy, a company of marionettes whose strings are being pulled from 1 Coca Cola Plaza NW in Atlanta. They'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony......as long as Coke is providing the melody. And I think their respective universities should all be evaluating their qualifications.

By my calculations, you've spent about seven minutes reading this little rant. I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time, because that's about six-and-a-half minutes more than the lunacy this pack of pandering, money grubbing clowns is promoting deserves.

All About Homemade Mayonnaise

Fast, Easy And Better Than Store Bought

Do you use a lot of mayonnaise at your house? I don't, and used to be I'd go out and buy the smallest jar I could find and still end up throwing more than half of it away. So I recommended to my wife, the family mayonnaise eater, that we start making our own. After all, we make bearnaise, hollandaise, and just about everything else from scratch, so why not mayonnaise?

Mayo has been around for a while. Early references can be found as far back as the beginning of the nineteenth century. Nobody is certain of the real origin story of the stuff and there are several floating around, including the most popular notion that it came from the town of Mahón in Menorca, Spain, where it was known as salsa mahonesa in Spanish and and as maonesa or maionesa in Catalan. It later migrated to France where it became known as mayonnaise.

Regardless of from whence it came, here's what mayonnaise is: a stable emulsion. What's an emulsion? Chemically, it's a mixing of two substances that normally don't mix. Like oil and water. In the case of mayonnaise, it's an emulsion of oil, eggs, and either vinegar or lemon juice. Other ingredients provide added flavor, but those are the essential three.

And that's another reason I started making my own mayonnaise. Above and beyond the cost and waste factors is the control of what I choose to consume. And preservatives and “stabilizers” are generally not among those choices.

Here's a look at the ingredient label of a national brand of mayonnaise. Actually, it's the same label across several national brands:

SOYBEAN OIL, WATER, WHOLE EGGS AND EGG YOLKS, VINEGAR, SALT, SUGAR, LEMON JUICE, CALCIUM DISODIUM EDTA (USED TO PROTECT QUALITY), NATURAL FLAVORS.

Now, according to 21CFR101.22 of the Code of Federal Regulations, “natural flavors” are defined as: “the essential oil, oleoresin, essence or extractive, protein hydrolysate, distillate, or any product of roasting, heating or enzymolysis, which contains the flavoring constituents derived from a spice, fruit or fruit juice, vegetable or vegetable juice, edible yeast, herb, bark, bud, root, leaf or similar plant material, meat, seafood, poultry, eggs, dairy products, or fermentation products thereof, whose significant function in food is flavoring rather than nutritional”.

My. Doesn't that just sound “natural?”

Then there's calcium disodium EDTA, the full scientific name of which is calcium disodium ethylene diamine tetraacetate. See why they abbreviate it? Calcium disodium EDTA is used to inhibit rancidity in salad dressings, mayonnaise, sauces, and sandwich spreads. Considering it's made from formaldehyde, sodium cyanide, and Ethylenediamine, it does a pretty bang-up job of “inhibiting.”

According to the fine folks at the FDA, providing the best protection special interest money can buy since about 1927, calcium disodium EDTA is on the GRAS (Generally Regarded As Safe) list when used in the small amounts found in prescription medicine, eye drops and food preservatives. However, there is a risk that the stuff can cause cramps, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, headaches, low blood pressure, skin problems, and fever. It is not safe to consume more than three grams per day. Too much can cause kidney damage, low calcium levels and even death. Guess it's a good thing I don't eat more mayonnaise.

But you know what? Even if you want to write me off as a health nut, there's one thing that can't be denied: homemade mayonnaise just tastes better than store bought.

As I mentioned, there are a lot of flavors you can add to mayonnaise made from scratch. Once you get the hang of it, experiment away. But what follows here is a really simple, really basic, really easy to make recipe for homemade mayonnaise.

Here's what you'll need:

2 eggs

2 tbsp Dijon mustard

1 ½ cups canola or olive oil

¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice

salt and freshly ground black pepper

About the eggs: use the freshest eggs you can get your hands on. Mine are farm fresh, but if you haven't got a farmer handy, don't use the eggs you bought at the supermarket three weeks ago. Go get some fresh(er) ones. Why? Glad you asked. Eggs contain lecithin, a phospholipid that facilitates the emulsion process. The older the egg, the more diminished the lecithin content, so.......fresh eggs, please.

I should note that using olive oil will affect the flavor profile of your mayonnaise. Not that that's a bad thing, but there may be some dishes you don't necessarily want to have an olive oil flavor. In that case, just use canola oil. It will taste more like “regular” mayonnaise.

There are a couple of ways you can proceed. If you've got great wrists, you can make mayonnaise by hand using a big bowl and a balloon whisk. You can also use a food processor or, if you have a ridiculously well-equipped kitchen like I do, you can use an immersion blender. Which ever way you go, make sure the ingredients are at room temperature. If they are too cold, the mixture may not emulsify properly.

Okay. Warm up your wrists, here we go with the “by hand” method.

In a large stainless steel* or glass mixing bowl, whisk together the eggs and the mustard until they are thoroughly combined. Add the oil in a continuous, thin stream, whisking constantly, until the mixture starts to thicken. Whisk in the lemon juice and keep whisking until everything is thoroughly blended. Season with salt and pepper.

*(The reason for the emphasis here is that aluminum or iron will make your finished product a rather unappetizing shade of gray.)

If you prefer to let a machine do it, here's how it goes.

Put the eggs and mustard in the work bowl of a food processor and process for a few seconds until everything is smooth. With the machine running, slowly add the oil through the feeder tube in a thin, continuous stream. Do this until the mixture is thick and completely emulsified. Add the lemon juice through the tube and process until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

If you have an immersion blender (aka a “stick blender”), the procedure is pretty much the same as the hand mixing method, except you're letting the blender be your “hand.”

In each method, I repeated the phrase “thin, continuous stream” when talking about adding the oil. (Well......I think I said “continuous, thin stream” once.) There's a reason: if you dump too much oil in too fast, your mayonnaise will break. That's the word chefs use when they totally screw up a sauce. And instead of having nice creamy mayonnaise, you'll have a bowlful of watery liquid with grainy bits of fat floating in it. You can fix it by beating up another egg yolk and slowly whisking it into the “broken” mixture until it thickens properly. Or you can drizzle in about a tablespoon of very hot water and whisk until smooth. But it's easier to do it right the first time.

A final word about storing your delicious, fresh, homemade mayonnaise: refrigerator. But not right away. After you finish whipping all the ingredients into emulsified submission, leave it out on the counter for a couple of hours. Ouch! All that screaming of the word “salmonella” is deafening. But hear me out. The chance of your egg yolk being contaminated with salmonella is almost infinitesimally small. On the off chance that it was, however, sticking the newly-made mayo in the fridge would only keep that salmonella from breeding. The cold won't actually kill it. However, acid will. And with all that great citric acid in your mayo, the nasties don't stand a chance. But for reasons that still have the white coat and pocket protector crowd mumbling and scratching their heads, acid does its best bug killing at room temperature. So leaving the mayonnaise out for a couple of hours is actually a good idea from an anti-bacterial standpoint. The FDA might disagree, but go back and look at the toxins they Generally Regard As Safe and ask yourself, “who cares?” After a couple of hours, though, it's straight to the refrigerator for your shiny new sauce, where it will hold up pretty well for about a week.

Of course, if the “raw egg and salmonella” thing really terrifies you, you could always use pasteurized eggs or (shudder) a liquid egg substitute. But I won't stand by the flavor.

As I said, there are a lot of variations. For instance, you can leave out the Dijon mustard. Or you can use vinegar instead of lemon juice. You can also scale up or down depending on how much mayo you need. Don't make a boatload unless you're going to use it all within a few days.

Either Amelia Schlorer or Richard Hellman have the distinction of being the first to commercially produce mayonnaise. Hellman supposedly did it in his New York delicatessen in 1905 while Mrs. Schlorer whipped up a batch of her famous homemade mayo in Philadelphia in 1907. She packed twelve jelly jars full of her sauce and sold it at a local department store. The jars were gone within an hour and, for better or worse, the era of commercial mayonnaise in jars was born. Both products are still on the market, although I think Hellman's wins the higher recognition award. But now you can bypass them both in the condiment aisle of your supermarket and make your own. It's fast, easy, and delicious.