I find myself living in the desert, otherwise known as the Phoenix metro area. The fact that I live in the desert is never lost on me, because I always seem to circle back to the idea that humans probably shouldn't live in the desert. 1.5 million of us are congregated in a sprawling metropolis that relies on a river that doesn't actually seem to exist. When it is 50 degrees out people fall into a panic, lighting fireplaces, and wondering when winter will break. The extensive Mormon community in the area laughs at the rest of us, knowing that their extensive food stores can be used to get them through the apocalypse, or a week where the first digit on the thermometer reads four. I get dehydrated here sitting on the couch. That is not an exaggeration, it has happened repeatedly. Trees are like mythic creatures that people speak of in hushed tones, like unicorns or yeti, or an intelligent cast member on a reality tv show. It goes something like this, "oh my god, your street has trees." The house I live in has a backyard.....of rocks, and the wealthy keep up with the Joneses by installing plastic grass on their property (they also seem to spend an inordinate amount of money on really bad plastic surgery. Have any of you ladies looked in the mirror lately? If you did you would realize that there is some progress to be made by doctors in this area) But for all the things here that seem different to me, like the fact that a large swath of the population refuses to acknowledge that we have a half-black president, Phoenix holds it down it many areas. I have come to know some amazing people who have embraced me (not an easy task), and made me feel at home here in the Valley of the Sun.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Modest Cook Lands In The Desert
The Modest Cook returns! I have been on a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back, and I'm better than ever! After receiving so many letters from my fans in the Ukraine, begging for my return, I could no longer deny the public my pointed opinions. They are a persuasive bunch and I wanted to satisfy the demand before dancing ensued. So here goes, the Modest Cook 2.0, no longer in New York, but still holding it down for everyone who will listen.
I find myself living in the desert, otherwise known as the Phoenix metro area. The fact that I live in the desert is never lost on me, because I always seem to circle back to the idea that humans probably shouldn't live in the desert. 1.5 million of us are congregated in a sprawling metropolis that relies on a river that doesn't actually seem to exist. When it is 50 degrees out people fall into a panic, lighting fireplaces, and wondering when winter will break. The extensive Mormon community in the area laughs at the rest of us, knowing that their extensive food stores can be used to get them through the apocalypse, or a week where the first digit on the thermometer reads four. I get dehydrated here sitting on the couch. That is not an exaggeration, it has happened repeatedly. Trees are like mythic creatures that people speak of in hushed tones, like unicorns or yeti, or an intelligent cast member on a reality tv show. It goes something like this, "oh my god, your street has trees." The house I live in has a backyard.....of rocks, and the wealthy keep up with the Joneses by installing plastic grass on their property (they also seem to spend an inordinate amount of money on really bad plastic surgery. Have any of you ladies looked in the mirror lately? If you did you would realize that there is some progress to be made by doctors in this area) But for all the things here that seem different to me, like the fact that a large swath of the population refuses to acknowledge that we have a half-black president, Phoenix holds it down it many areas. I have come to know some amazing people who have embraced me (not an easy task), and made me feel at home here in the Valley of the Sun.
I find myself living in the desert, otherwise known as the Phoenix metro area. The fact that I live in the desert is never lost on me, because I always seem to circle back to the idea that humans probably shouldn't live in the desert. 1.5 million of us are congregated in a sprawling metropolis that relies on a river that doesn't actually seem to exist. When it is 50 degrees out people fall into a panic, lighting fireplaces, and wondering when winter will break. The extensive Mormon community in the area laughs at the rest of us, knowing that their extensive food stores can be used to get them through the apocalypse, or a week where the first digit on the thermometer reads four. I get dehydrated here sitting on the couch. That is not an exaggeration, it has happened repeatedly. Trees are like mythic creatures that people speak of in hushed tones, like unicorns or yeti, or an intelligent cast member on a reality tv show. It goes something like this, "oh my god, your street has trees." The house I live in has a backyard.....of rocks, and the wealthy keep up with the Joneses by installing plastic grass on their property (they also seem to spend an inordinate amount of money on really bad plastic surgery. Have any of you ladies looked in the mirror lately? If you did you would realize that there is some progress to be made by doctors in this area) But for all the things here that seem different to me, like the fact that a large swath of the population refuses to acknowledge that we have a half-black president, Phoenix holds it down it many areas. I have come to know some amazing people who have embraced me (not an easy task), and made me feel at home here in the Valley of the Sun.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Subway, M&M's, and Unhealthy Children
I was riding the subway home from work yesterday. It was rush hour on Friday, which may be the most unagreeable time to be a straphanger in New York City. I could compare it to other moments in history when people were made to ride trains in deplorable conditions. This would be overly dramatic, and to many, rather tasteless, so I will not head down that slippery slope. What I will say is that, without fail, riding a Friday evening rush hour 1 train will undoubtedly make you fall out of love with this city. The good news was that I captured a highly coveted end seat at the Chambers Station, allowing me the solace that comes with never having to deal with someone on one side of you. Everyone longs for the end seat, and I was the envy of an entire row. My self satisfaction was erased a few stations later when an elderly woman with a cane boarded the packed train and I was forced into gentlemanly action. Though the end seat is the subway's version of the Iron Throne, it is also the most precarious, for situations arise outside of our control, forcing one to relinquish control over the Realm. Suddenly I found myself in the unenviable position of standing, with a messenger bag and a grocery sack, for the duration of the ride. I swear I heard the elderly woman snicker, followed by a distinct "sucker" uttered from the cavernous expanse of her dark soul.
Friday, April 13, 2012
No Reservations: Is Anthony Bourdain hosting the best show on TV?
There are many people out there today who say “I don’t watch television”. It usually has nothing to do with whether they can afford television. Instead, it has become a calling card for coolness to say that you don’t. Many of these same people watch endless streams of videos on their Macbooks or iPhones, but somehow they think that this is different. People are silly. The silliest thing about this is that television has never been better. It has also never been worse, but that is the inevitable price we all pay for the infinite variety of content. The point is that there are some amazing shows on television. Game Of Thrones, Boardwalk Empire, Family Guy, Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Charlie Rose, Bizarre Foods, Louie, Frontline, Sons Of Anarchy, Justified, and any others you care to add to the list are all great viewing. Has television ever been better? I don’t think so. In the category of non-fiction, No Reservations has officially placed itself atop the heap, a show that is now in its eighth season, and continues to get better and better. This fact, in and of itself, makes it a remarkable production.
Monday, March 26, 2012
What Are Your Favorite Things To Eat?
I find it somewhat comical that I titled a blog post in the form of a question to readers, knowing full well that I am about to answer it myself. So, what are my favorite things to eat?
-Pizza.
-Asparagus, in season, with a bit of butter.
-A delicious steak, with a nice pan sauce.
-Vanilla Ice Cream.
-Roast Chicken.
-A simple plate of pasta.
-Cured meats.
-A lightly dressed salad of ripe summer vegetables.
-A juicy peach.
-Apple Tart.
-Noodles and Cabbage.
-Really good tacos.
-Slow cooked pork, in all its myriad styles.
-A good burger.
-Chinese Stir Fry (that is pretty broad, but just go with it).
-Fresh bread with butter or olive oil.
-Oysters.
-Dumplings, either potstickers or soup dumplings.
-A perfectly ripe tomato with sea salt, and perhaps a touch of pepper.
-A delicious piece of fish grilled, fried, baked, or poached, it matters not. Simply seasoned.
-Caramelized Onions. Just put them on something, and I will probably like it. They make burgers better, pizza better, and they take tacos to the next level.
-A steaming bowl of delicious ramen.
-Chocolate Chip Cookies.
-An ear of sweet corn.
-A bacon, egg, and cheese. Deli style.
I am sure there are things that have eluded my mental faculties, escaping my memory, but sure to pop up at the most random of times. Think for a second, what is on your list? More importantly, why is it on your list? If this is your last week to eat, what is on the menu?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Cooking, Running, Tebowing, and Lin-Sanity!!!
There was a time in my life when people used to tell me I couldn’t cook. More often than not, the ‘couldn’t’ was peppered with a big dose of shouldn’t. “Why would you do that”? This is one occasion where I am thoroughly happy that I paid little heed to what others told me. I never cooked as a child, but my parents brought me up in an atmosphere where food was cherished and celebrated in a working-class, un-foodie manner. This environment allowed for enjoyment, but never really included me in the practicing of the actual production. One day in my early twenties I decided to start cooking. I don’t exactly know how what happened, or what spurned it along. My guess is that it seemed practical, enjoyable, and creative at a time when these were the things I sorely needed. As a guy playing college athletics, and living the life that went along with it, cooking wasn’t exactly high on the list of activities that my friends were aching to get into. The first things I made weren’t great, but always edible. Believe me when I tell you that it was a process. I wasn’t gifted with some secret talent for the stove that allowed me to ascend to culinary greatness at break neck pace. I read books, and most of all, I practiced. I do remember the first time I made something that thoroughly surprised a detractor. It felt good, to have achieved something through repetition and resolve. Cooking remains something that I practice; never something I know or fully understand. When I moved to New York a few years ago, I found myself in a position where cooking took on a whole new light. Living in one of the most expensive cities in the world—where eating out three times a day is de rigueur for so many—with a limited budget thrust me into a position where cooking became essential. It also became fun. I cook all the time, and because of this my abilities have improved. I have answered the criticism of those who questioned why I ever wanted to learn to cook, or whether I could pull it off.
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