BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Excuse me for a moment while I try on my best Andy Rooney impersonation…

Ahem…Gargle…Ahem-Ahem…

Okay, here goes…

Have ya’ ever noticed that some people will get hung up on a catch phrase, or a word, and then use it to death?

Okay, well that impersonating thing hurts my throat so I’m gonna stop, but as to the above question, seriously…Have you ever noticed that? Well, obviously I have…

I guess my rant, in this case, is a bit targeted. What I mean is, I am aiming this at food/cooking shows in particular…Especially those on the Food Network, one of my favorite channels…Except for, as you must certainly notice, this little issue here.

There are two utterances in particular that are really starting to get on my nerves. Maybe it is the fact that I make my living with words that I am so sensitive to this, but in any case, here is my beef (do you like how I worked that food reference in there? [grin]).

1) The word “Off” – Now “off” is a fairly specific word meaning the opposite of “on”. Pretty easy to deal with, Not terribly obtrusive when used in its given context. It’s not even that bad when used as a brand name for oven cleaner. However, in the past year or so there has been this movement among those driving the kitchen to append this word to particular cooking verbs that, frankly, are fairly self explanatory. Sure, they might require the additional prefix of “slow” (as in slow roasted) or “pan” (as in pan seared) but they definitely have no need for a meaningless appendage hanging off their backsides dragging them down –

For instance… “First we take some poblano peppers, place them on a baking sheet and roast them OFF…”

Excuse me? Roast them “off” of what? Are you telling me that you want me to roast them under the broiler until they fall off the baking sheet? That really doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense now does it?

Or, as I heard today… “Sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the flour tortilla then bake it OFF for a few minutes…”

Bake it off? Are we having a contest of which I am unaware? The great tortilla bake-off? Or, am I supposed to bake it until all of the cinnamon and sugar comes off? That will be kind of hard because once the sugar starts to caramelize it will tend to glaze and bond with  the porous tortilla…Therefore, in order to get rid of the sugar I am going to have to burn this thing  beyond recognition, rendering it pretty much inedible…Wouldn’t it be better for me to just shake it so the cinnamon and sugar fall off? Or, here’s an idea – how about if I just don’t put the cinnamon and sugar on it to begin with and I won’t have a need to “insert verb here” it off. Saves time and gets the recipe done faster…

And, I’ve even repeatedly heard… “Then we take the tenderloin [or other cut of meat] and grill it OFF on each side…”

Again I ask, OFF of what? If it falls off the grill and into the coals it might not be all that tasty…if it missed the coals and ends up on the ground…well, let’s not go there. I’ve been there before and let’s just say beef brisket and sand don’t mix unless you are trying to clean your teeth or something…But, that is another story involving a barbecue, too much beer, an unstable Weber kettle, and a rousing game of Frisbee.

You know, I have no clue whatsoever how this trend began… This is merely a guess, but if I had to lay money I would say some tongue tied cook on a show accidentally tagged “off” to the end of something he was saying. Simple mistake, slip of the tongue, all good. BUT (you knew there would be one of those, right?) Some fruit loop heard it and thought “Hey, that sounds cool so I think I’ll start saying it so everyone will think I am some kind of important chef.” (Guess again, it makes you sound like a friggin’ idiot.)

The next thing you know everyone with a cooking show is appending “off” to the ends of their verbs. Honestly, kids, this has gotten waaaaayyyyyyy too ridiculous and out of hand. Drop the off, use the verbs as they are intended, and call it good. You’ll be amazed at how much more sense you will suddenly make.

This brings me to the next problem child…

2) “Flavorful” – Okay. Not a real problem in and of itself. It’s a word. It’s even a viable word that can certainly be used in conjunction with food or ingredients in recipes. It makes perfect sense. If you say it once or possibl;y twice…(although, personally I think once is quite enough…)

From where the idea came that the word “flavorful” was the one and only descriptor to be used while explaining food, I again have no clue. I can only say that I personally first noticed it when I accidentally landed the channel on the Food Network during a show featuring Tyler Florence. I say accidentally because Tyler just isn’t one of my favorites. I’m not a fan. I mean, I’m sure he’s a nice guy and he appears to know his way around the kitchen- he even has a stack of degrees to prove it- but in general his show and recipes simply fail to do anything for me, so I don’t watch him. (No offense intended, Tyler. But, let’s be honest – you probably don’t read my books either, so we’re even.)

Anyway, I digress… The thing is I stopped on that channel and there he was talking about a recipe. Much to my horror, in the span of 15 seconds he said the word “flavorful” 5 times. I think he even said it twice in one sentence.

Then, a short while later I saw him on an Applebees commercial…And there was that word again…I can’t remember for sure but I think he said it at least twice in the 5 second span he was talking, but don’t hold me to that… Even if I’m wrong and he said it only once that was more than enough. He’d already beaten it to death earlier and the fact that he was repeating it was proof enough to me that he was stuck on it and needed a date with a thesaurus.

I mean, even Emeril Lagasse was smart enough to back off on the trademark “BAM” after a while…Yeah, he still does it, but not every two seconds…

So, Tyler…come on. Depending on the particular ingredient there are a whole host of places you can go – delicious, tasty, delicate, savory, juicy, fresh, peppery, zesty, sweet, tangy, and mild, just to name a few…bursting with flavor, full of flavor…hell, even “full-flavored”… But, let’s give “flavorful” a rest, okay? It’s tired. You’ve stretched it way too thin and it just can’t cover the spread any longer…It really wants to go back to its page in the dictionary and take a nap…I, for one, really think you should let it…

Now, the thing that has really gotten under my skin about number two is that since Mister Florence has continued to use this word to to the exclusion of all other adjectives, suddenly some of my favorite folks on Food Network such as Alton Brown have started randomly tossing it out there too. Alton….Dude… Please don’t make me tune YOU out too…That would be a pity because I actually think you are a hoot…

Sooooo…at this point, theoretically, I suppose I should make them a deal…Something like “stop screwing with the language and I’ll stay out of the kitchen…” The problem here is that I am actually schooled to be in the kitchen. Perhaps not as much as they are, but schooled nonetheless… So, that makes it pretty hard for me to offer that deal…However, since there probably isn’t any danger of me getting myself a cooking show anytime soon, I’ll advance this compromise…

Y’all stop beating up the language and I won’t cook on TV.

‘Nuff said…

More to come…

Murv

Being on a book tour is hard work.

On the outside, looking in, it probably doesn’t seem that way to most folks. But, trust me, it is. Take, for instance, this most recent tour.

Each day, Morrison and I would get up at the buttcrack of dawn. As in 4AM or even a bit earlier. Sometimes a bit later, but not by much. This would immediately be followed by us complaining about how we were too old for this crap. Instead of giving up and going back to sleep, however, we would take our turns getting a shower, then stuff all of our “possibles” (as Morrison calls them,) into our respective suitcases, and then spend a few minutes disassembling and reassembling the 3 dimensional puzzle that was the trunk and back seat of the rental car. Once we had jumped up and down on the trunk lid a few times, finally getting it to latch, we would hop into the vehicle and hit the road. Our first stop would usually be the office of the motel for a cup of coffee and a stale donut. If no such comestibles were available to us, we would find a Dunkin Donuts, local diner, or even a stop ‘n shop where we could grab the aforementioned caffeine and carb fix.

Then, Jane, AKA “the bitch in the box” would bark her orders at us as we navigated the streets of unfamiliar cities, eventually making our way to an unfamiliar highway, then striking out on the next leg of our journey. The drive could be 4 hours, or it could be 7. It all hinged on where we were expected to be next (as outlined in the sacred blue folder, which lived for 15 days tucked behind the sun visor on the passenger side of the car…) Sometimes we had to be in one place by 11AM, only to turn around and be in another place by 6PM. Somewhere in that mess we also needed to check in to our motel, freshen up our road weary faces, and do what it is that one does when your job is signing books and entertaining workshop attendees.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. Both of us truly enjoy going on book tours and meeting folks. I’m simply pointing out that this is NOT the glamorous life you see depicted in movies. It’s work. It’s tough work. And, it involves long, long days and nights. Typically, our work day is 14 to 16 hours.

You will notice in the above diatribe that nothing is mentioned about lunch. Just the stale donut and coffee at 5AM or thereabouts. Why no lunch? Because, when your schedule is that tight, and you are zipping across entire states going from bookstore to bookstore, lunch isn’t always an option. That stale donut/bagel and weak coffee is your primary sustenance for the day.

By the time you get finished with the appearances for that calendar date, it is almost certainly close to being the next day. As in, 11PM or after. You climb back into the car and head for the motel…or to the home of a friend where you are going to crash…and set out again. Sometimes the friend or motel is close. Sometimes it’s two hours down the road so that you are just that much closer to your next gig. It’s just the way of things. When you get where you are going, you suddenly realize that the donut and coffee are fully digested, every single nutrient that could be gleaned from them has been and has been used to its full potential…It also dawns on you that your adrenal gland, which has been keeping you upright for the past 8 hours is now tapped out. So, before you climb into bed to get your 3 to 4 hours of sleep, you roll into a diner and get a hamburger…or a cheese sandwich…or you even drop by the Quick E Mart and toss down one of those not so appetizing, pre-made, pre-packaged chicken salad sandwiches. (Well, I ate a sandwich, Morrison had M&M’s. I think she was looking for comfort food that night, and the Quick E Mart didn’t have a steak.) Anyway, the point is that you dump some kind of fuel into your system so that you can keep going.

So, what does this have to do with Pizza? Glad you asked.

After one of our gigs…I think it was in Rehoboth, MA, but don’t quote me, because I really did lose track of where and when I was (this is not unusual)…we had a one and a half hour drive to get to our crash point. We were staying with some friends who happen to live in Salem, MA. Since we had never been to their place before we had some directions with landmarks. A few minutes outside Salem, Morrison mentioned to me that one of the landmarks was the fact that their apartment building had a pizza joint on the ground floor.

Neither of us had eaten a thing since that morning. The magical word PIZZA had been uttered. We both looked at one another and said, “Pizza!” Our stomachs began to growl. Our mouths began to water. And, we said PIZZA! yet again. The monster was out of the proverbial closet.

We arrived at our destination, and with the help of our friends Kim and Alec, carted our luggage up to their spacious and exceptionally cool apartment. Kim called downstairs to order us a Pizza, primarily because we crawled out of the car and didn’t even say hello. We just kept saying, PIZZA and sighing wistfully. Fortunately, Kim and Alec are very bright and on the ball, which meant they were both able to quickly decipher the inane ramblings of two wiped out authors on tour.

The Pizza place was getting close to closing time so they told her they were only serving slices, and not making whole pizzas. Alarms went off. Eyes watered. Emotional breakdowns were on the verge of ensuing. Pizza was what we needed. Pizza was the only thing that would sustain us at this point. Without pizza we would wither and die. So, we all marched downstairs right into the pizza place. If nothing else, we were going to get a slice.

That was when Morrison gained a momentary spark of lucidity and genius. She looked at the girl behind the counter and said, “Are any of those pizzas back there whole?” The girl said, “Why yes, we do have a whole cheese pizza.” Morrison waved money at her and said, “Give it to me.” Note, she did not say “please, may we have that one,” or “would you be willing to sell us the whole pizza.” No, she said “Give it to me.” Obviously, since she was waving money she didn’t mean that the girl should literally “give it to her,” but it was obvious to everyone in the place that Morrison wasn’t leaving without that pizza.

I was reaching for my wallet. At that point we were both willing to toss all of the green we had onto the counter in order to obtain the sacred pizza. Fortunately, they were scrupulous folks and didn’t take advantage of us in our deteriorated states. We got the pizza, went back upstairs then stood in Kim and Alec’s kitchen, a slice in one hand, and a nice, cold, hard cider in the other. And we ate.

And we ate…

And we ate…

All in all, I can guarantee you that the pizza was pretty much average as pizzas go.

But, that night…Well, let’s just say on that particular night, it was the best damn pizza either of us had ever eaten in our lives.

More to come…

Murv

PS. In a day or two I’ll tell you about round two…New York style pizza (actually, they call it “pie”) purchased in New Jersey…