Food and Drink

Hunting for the Pizza Hut of my youth

About 15 miles off the I-80, tucked away in the Cleveland suburb of Warren, you’ll find a delightful bit of yesteryear, preserved from the 1970s and serving up your childhood dreams. Here you’ll find a Pizza Hut that forgot to evolve into a quick counter-service and delivery outpost like almost all the others. I had heard rumors of Pizza Hut Classics for some time. For years I’ve wanted to find one. As a person who would live solely on pizza if it weren’t for the heart disease and kidney stones that would inevitably follow, I knew I had to find one. Lo and behold, one such restaurant happened to be in my path on a road trip to Detroit over the holidays.

The vast landscape of American barbecue

Some 25 years ago, I walked into the University of South Carolina library to check out a book on the history of barbecue. I had just finished a PhD in American literature, but had become more interested in culinary history. I had also taken to driving the state’s backroads, seeking out old-school barbecue restaurants. Researching the history of barbecue seemed the perfect next move. To my surprise, no one had published a book on the subject. The most that had been written about pre-20th century barbecue were a few sparse paragraphs in larger works on food history. I ended up having to write one myself. It took a while. The first edition of Barbecue: The History of an American Institution was published in 2010.

The mindfulness behind the cooking of Buddhist nun Jeong Kwan

I am somewhat allergic to food nomenclature: zero-waste, plant-based, seasonal, small plates, “live cultures,” foraged, farm-to-fork. It’s not that these are inherently off-putting concepts, but I associate them with “foodie” fads, gimmicks and big egos. All of those trendy labels could apply to the food cooked by the “philosopher chef,” a Buddhist nun called Venerable Jeong Kwan, plus you could throw in a dash of mindfulness and eastern spirituality for good measure. Yet Kwan, who is venerated by Le Bernardin’s Eric Ripert and Noma’s René Redzepi, and has featured in an episode of Chef’s Table, is the furthest thing from an ego-chef.

The proof is in the glass

Here we are at the beginning of a new year. Since I don’t have any childcare “learing centers” to offer my readers, I thought, the weather being frigid here in the northeast, I would reach out with the warmth of – no, not “collectivism,” to which I am allergic – but of some recent discoveries in the world of wine. Much cheaper, believe me, and much more palatable. It is only fairly recently that the Santa Cruz Mountains have come into their own as a California wine-producing region. I was deeply impressed by the 2021 Estate chardonnay from Rhys Vineyards. Sourced from three spots in the mountains, with elevations ranging from about 700 to 1,400 feet on a variety of soil types, this chardonnay is exceptionally well-structured.

How I lost 50lbs eating at McDonald’s

Eating regularly at McDonald’s over the past nine months, I have managed to lose 50lbs and ten inches off my waist, and I’m still counting. Yes, you read that correctly. Like many Americans, I have been trying to lose weight to no avail. I completely changed my diet, eating only vegetables, apples and microwavable, low-calorie, diet meals. And again, like many Americans, after months and years of discipline, restricting my portion sizes and eating like a rabbit, the scales wouldn’t budge. I had made so little progress that I had given up trying. Dieting is expensive and time-consuming and I didn’t realistically have the time or the money to do it, especially if I wasn’t seeing results. I work very odd hours and don’t have time to meal prep or cook. So I gave up trying.

‘Corporate agriculture’ is wrong about cows and methane

In the 1960s, scientists discovered that halogenated compounds such as chloroform and bromochloromethane could inhibit methane-generating microorganisms, also known as methanogens. This was important because agricultural scientists were trying to make livestock farming more efficient. Ruminants (cows, sheep, goats, deer, giraffes) produce the gas methane when they digest plant matter. Scientists reckoned between 2 and 12 percent of all the energy from feed was being lost as gas. If they could reduce methane production, they could increase yields of meat, milk and other products. In one experiment, feeding chloroform to sheep reduced their methane emissions by between 30 and 50 percent. The results were even more dramatic with bromochloromethane: a reduction of 70 percent.

A glutton’s guide to Venice

I have been writing about restaurants that are in or near cultural landmarks: museums, opera houses, historic sites. This column is an exception, as it is about one of the few restaurants in the world that is a cultural landmark in its own right: Harry’s Bar. It is an even more remarkable fact given that the restaurant is in the midst of probably the most culturally dense city in Europe, Venice. I must declare that I have eaten at Harry’s at least once, sometimes twice, on every one of the many trips I have made to Venice since 1977. I love it. Not everyone does – or maybe it’s more accurate to say that not everyone gets it. I took a friend there on his first visit and he complained that “the chairs are too low, the drinks are too small and the prices too high.

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The joy of Jell-O

My grandmother lived on a Christmas tree farm in Indiana. December weekends meant hauling evergreens, pulling needles from our socks and pretending I was far more help than hindrance. But the real event – the thing the whole month orbited – was Christmas Day dinner: the good china, the stiff grace and the quiet family rule that no one under 20 offered up an opinion unless asked. The table was a study in American aspiration: a ham glossy with cloves, wassail steaming on the hob, potatoes whipped into obedient fluff, canned cranberry sauce still bearing its aluminum-molded rings… and always, inevitably, the Jell-O. There were several, because my family believed in abundance, even when the abundance quivered. Aunt Deb and Uncle Fritz arrived with their famed Jell-O eggs.

Flirting with Passetoutgrain, Burgundy Pinot Noir’s fun sister

In his History of the Franks, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594) wrote one of my favorite opening sentences: “A great many things keep happening, some of them good, some of them bad.” Who can disagree? Gregory’s works are full of interesting morsels. Writing about the miracles of St. Julian, for example, he notes that a cask of wine that was left half empty was found “overflowing and forming a rivulet of wine across the floor. Although drawn from repeatedly, the cask remained full until the next day.” A good fellow to have around, that Julian. Gregory seems to have taken a keen interest in wine. He was one of the first people to opine about the wines of Burgundy. which he compared to storied Roman Falernian in 591. What do you suppose that wine was like?

A chef’s twist on the Feast of the Seven Fishes

My Italian-American family gathers every Christmas Eve to cook a Feast of the Seven Fishes. And every year, it’s always just a little disappointing. Sorry, Mom. While the Feast must include seven distinct seafood dishes, there’s no correct way to prepare it. It’s entirely open to personal preference or family tradition and typically relies on whatever fish is readily available in the American northeast. Still, a touch of gourmet precision can help refine some of Nonna’s age-old recipes. The Feast is a quintessentially Italian-American tradition – one rooted ostensibly in Old World Catholicism and the abstention from meat until Christmas Day. Yet there’s very little record of it ever taking place in Italy.

jesus garden

I met Jesus – and he’s an old Spanish gardener

As the old Jewish proverb goes, “Man plans and God laughs.” But nothing, in my experience, makes Him clutch His sides quite like hearing about my Mediterranean gardening ambitions. Every winter, my horticultural memory performs a factory reset. I somehow forget the summer mornings when the thermometer climbs past 90°F by 8 a.m. and the plants wilt by noon. The brutal, arid wind that strips moisture from the leaves faster than I can water? Erased from my mind. What blight? And the way perfect fruit splits overnight after a thunderstorm? Never happened. Come spring, I’m suddenly possessed, clicking “add to cart” on tomato varieties with names like 1980s cocktail bars: Pink Jazz, Green Zebra, Cosmic Eclipse.

A trip to Fortnum’s turned me into an expert present-giver

I had only been to Fortnum & Mason once before. The first time I went, I wasn’t sure what I was getting in to. I remember that the distinct, pale eau-de-nil (mint green) exterior – its signature color – was framed by cream trim and Georgian sash windows stacked neatly across several stories. It was charming and slightly whimsical, like a confectioner’s box scaled up to building size. My maiden voyage was with the British skateboarder and artist Blondey McCoy, who excitedly led my wife around the hallowed halls as an unofficial tour guide during the bustling Christmas season last year, sporting an infectious Cheshire-cat grin. I was jetlagged and generally not festive, but the energy was palpable. I began to turn from a Scrooge into a believer.

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How I won over a Scrooge-like New Yorker

Like all men, my dear friend Chris Black is an absolutely terrible person to shop with. He behaves only marginally better than a boy toddler. As we stood on the street outside Fortnum’s, this New Yorker’s greeting to me was, “I’m not really a Christmassy kind of person.” How anyone could say this when they are about to enter the Father Christmas of department stores is beyond me. Fortnum & Mason, with its crimson carpets and twirling mahogany doors, counters groaning with marzipan and chocolate and its gracious staircases and red-coated butlers transport even the most jaded shopper to a gentler time when Christmas shopping was an “outing,” one that you dressed up for, before people had even imagined scroll-and-click retail.

Matthew and Camila McConaughey’s signature Christmas cocktail recipe

Our Santa Pants cocktail is one of our go-to holiday pours when hosting at this time of year. Made with our organic tequila and ginger beer, cranberry juice and fresh lime, it brings all the sparkle and cheer of the season. It is like Christmas in a glass. And while the world doesn’t need another celebrity tequila, it could use a shot of fun. So this Christmas, enjoy yourself and keep the holiday spirit flowing. Here’s how to make it. Ingredients – 60ml Pantalones Organic Tequila – 60ml cranberry juice – 15ml lime juice – Top with ginger beer – Garnish: sugar rim, cranberries, rosemary Rim the edge of a rocks glass with a lime wedge, dip the rim in sugar to coat and set aside.

How to make an unforgettable Christmas dinner

In the early 1970s, celebrity chef Jacques Pépin and his wife bought a dilapidated house in the Catskills so they could go skiing on the weekends. It was a real fixer-upper. Groups of friends would come up from New York City and pitch in on the renovation effort, and Pépin would serve dinner at the end of the day. These weekends were so much fun Pépin decided to memorialize them by hand-lettering and painting special menus. How Pépin convinced his friends to let him sit in the kitchen sketching petits poissons and heads of broccoli while they slaved away at framing and drywalling his winter getaway is, admittedly, mysterious.

Christmas

Four Twenty Five’s wine list is better than most

I was recently invited by friends to a small birthday fête at Four Twenty Five, Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s latest New York restaurant at (wouldn’t you know it) 425 Park Avenue. It was, as Bertie Wooster might have put it, oojah-cum-spiff, a worthy companion to the Terrace and Nougatine, those other famed New York refectories by Jean-Georges. I won’t bore you with the victuals, which were so far from boring themselves that it would take more than a column just to enumerate those toothsome morsels. Instead, let me mention a couple of the wines we enjoyed, noting for posterity that the wine list at Four Twenty Five is one of the most extensive and thoughtfully selected in New York City. I hope to have occasion to make a thorough study in the years to come.

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Why winter is the best time for a barbecue

Summer is usually associated with outdoor cooking which is a perfectly reasonable association. But standing over a hot grill or smoker when the mercury is rising is not the most pleasant of activities. Whatever you are cooking becomes seasoned with droplets of sweat. Another oft-overlooked issue, particularly when it comes to smoking meats, is that temperature regulation of the cooking apparatus can be difficult when the ambient heat surrounding it is working in synergy with the heat inside it. While I have a friend who does competition cooking and isn’t a stranger to winning (he pushes his smoker up to 300°F) most of us lack the requisite skill for smoking a pork shoulder or brisket at that heat and pulling out a tender product at the end.

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When it comes to bourbon, provenance matters

My wife Amber and I returned home, to the heart of where it all began for me – the Bluegrass. A day at the races at Keeneland felt like stepping into a painting: the autumn sun catching the coats of the Thoroughbreds, the crowd humming with excitement. The next night, we watched on as the Kentucky Wildcats nearly toppled Texas under the lights at Kroger Field, the air electric with hope. But it was afterward, on the backroads, that Kentucky spoke loudest. Horses grazed behind old stone fences; the sweet, yeasty scent of mash rolled out of the distilleries that dot the countryside. In those quiet miles, I remembered how deeply I love this place and how fiercely I’ll defend her bounty, both her people and her goods.

Bourbon

Anne of Green Gables perfected the kitchen mishap

There’s something wickedly entertaining in reading about other people’s kitchen debacles, whether actual or fictional. They’re just so relatable. The jelly that won’t jell in Louisa May Alcott’s Good Wives is cruelly hilarious, but the best culinary catastrophe in classic fiction, for my money, is in Anne of Green Gables. Stylish guests, including the upper-crust Mrs. Chester Ross, are dining at Green Gables and our ebullient Anne is on her very best behavior. All goes well until Marilla arrives with the pudding and a pitcher of pudding sauce. On spotting the pudding sauce, our heroine’s eyes grow wide and terrified.

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