Found a link to this on the New York Magazine Grub Street Blog:
Anthony Bourdain and Michael Rulhman are giving out "Golden Clog Awards" to culinary personalities for various achievements and failures. My favorites are:
THE ROCCO
For worst career move
Nominees: Gordon Ramsay for the cruel and pointless freak show that is Hells Kitchen; David Burke for the "Hooters in a Hula skirt" non-charms of Hawaiian Tropic Zone in Times Square; Tyler Florence for Applebees, Applebees, Applebees
THE ALTON
For being on Food Network and yet, somehow managing to Not Suck
Nominees: Duff Goldman for Ace of Cakes--and for his relative low visibility and seeming lack of cooperation in the usual knuckleheaded FN Holiday co-branded clusterfucks; Ina Garten for actually cooking just about everything impeccably--and for (like Duff) being nearly invisible elsewhere on the Network; Giada diLaurentis for doing everything (but the food) wrong and yet....still cooking consistently better than she has to.
THE CAT CORA AWARD
For most fame based on least actual culinary achievement
Nominees: Guy Fieri for..."Tex Wasabi?"; Tony Bourdain--"One fucking book. Did this asshole ever work anyplace GOOD?"; Robert Irvine--"Sir Robert? Uh....Maybe not. Prince Charles' wedding cake?...uh...no. White House? Hmmm..not according to Walter Scheib....Five Stars? Who IS this guy? Really?"
For these and other nominations and explanations of the categories visit-
http://eater.com/archives/2008/02/sobewire_the_20.php
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
short update:
Oh yeah- I got an internship working for the Public Relations rep at The French Laundry. Mostly, I catalogue press about TFL and do a lot of maintenance-type office work. Sometimes, though, I get to write press releases, pitch stories to magazines, and sit in on photo shoots. I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement, though, so the juicier details will sadly remain secret.
Really Old Restaurant Reviews
During my semester break, I “toured” the East Coast- spending time with family in North Carolina, visiting New Jersey for the first time in a year, checking out the farmland my parents bought in Pennsylvania, and hanging out a bit in New York. Since my family isn’t really known for “haute-cuisine” (read: food not burnt) at Christmas dinners, the two biggest culinary highlights of my break had to be eating at both The Spotted Pig and Aquavit.
I know I was a year or two late on enjoying the whole “gastropub” fad, but I think The Spotted Pig, as the forerunner of the trend, has managed to transcend fashion and end up as a Village classic. Who wouldn’t love The Pig for letting you eat 1-star Michelin food without having to dress up or make a reservation? I, rather decadently, ordered that night’s appetizer special of fried pig’s ear which was exactly as awesome as fried pig skin can be. Though pig’s ear is a bit (just a bit) rich, our waiter recommended a 2005 bottle of Villa Sparina Gavi which had great peachy acidity and a slight mineral crispness that cut right through the delicious fried fat. For an entrée, my dining companion ordered a char-grilled burger with roquefort, which made me mad. It was a great burger but I was hoping to snag some bites of some other, more interesting, plate like the pan-fried skate with chicory or the beef and Guinness pie. Admittedly, I also didn’t get too crazy by ordering the quail with roasted trevise and pomegranate (which was also great).
Two days after New Year’s, I took my high-school friend Vicky to the, then practically vacant, dining room at Aquavit. It’s always both fun and disturbing to take someone with little fine-dining experience to an upmarket midtown joint. Even for me, going to midtown restaurants like Le Bernardin, L’Atelier, or Aquavit usually lowers my self esteem. I always get the feeling I’m way too young and way to poor to be there. But, at least at Aquavit, such nerves can be calmed by the house-made flights of the restaurant’s namesake. Of course our chef’s tasting featured a lot of artfully presented and beautifully dressed fish (yellowtail with duck tail, sea urchin and lime; chili-dusted roasted halibut, brioche-crusted salmon with beef cheeks) but the standout plate of the night for me was the oxymoronically rich and fluffily-light foie gras ganache with cured quail, pickled asparagus and raisin vinaigrette. I could eat that everyday.
I know I was a year or two late on enjoying the whole “gastropub” fad, but I think The Spotted Pig, as the forerunner of the trend, has managed to transcend fashion and end up as a Village classic. Who wouldn’t love The Pig for letting you eat 1-star Michelin food without having to dress up or make a reservation? I, rather decadently, ordered that night’s appetizer special of fried pig’s ear which was exactly as awesome as fried pig skin can be. Though pig’s ear is a bit (just a bit) rich, our waiter recommended a 2005 bottle of Villa Sparina Gavi which had great peachy acidity and a slight mineral crispness that cut right through the delicious fried fat. For an entrée, my dining companion ordered a char-grilled burger with roquefort, which made me mad. It was a great burger but I was hoping to snag some bites of some other, more interesting, plate like the pan-fried skate with chicory or the beef and Guinness pie. Admittedly, I also didn’t get too crazy by ordering the quail with roasted trevise and pomegranate (which was also great).
Two days after New Year’s, I took my high-school friend Vicky to the, then practically vacant, dining room at Aquavit. It’s always both fun and disturbing to take someone with little fine-dining experience to an upmarket midtown joint. Even for me, going to midtown restaurants like Le Bernardin, L’Atelier, or Aquavit usually lowers my self esteem. I always get the feeling I’m way too young and way to poor to be there. But, at least at Aquavit, such nerves can be calmed by the house-made flights of the restaurant’s namesake. Of course our chef’s tasting featured a lot of artfully presented and beautifully dressed fish (yellowtail with duck tail, sea urchin and lime; chili-dusted roasted halibut, brioche-crusted salmon with beef cheeks) but the standout plate of the night for me was the oxymoronically rich and fluffily-light foie gras ganache with cured quail, pickled asparagus and raisin vinaigrette. I could eat that everyday.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
I Finally Post Something About Skills One
In The Making of a Chef, Michael Rulhman often writes about a girl in his class who’s an absolute disaster. Her whites are always messy, she burns her consommé, she never scores well on practicals, and she can never seem to catch up with the rest of the class.
I’m that girl.
I know every class has to have one. But, when you have Skills I with Chef Skibitsky and you’re that girl, you almost feel like you should just abandon kitchen life all together. Skibitsky’s one of those old-school, hard knocks, pay your dues type chefs. He persistently glares about the kitchen finding faults with your knife cuts, your stocks, your mise en place, your speed, your proficiency. He runs his class like a boot camp- a grueling indoctrination into the world of the culinary arts.
This is not to say he isn’t an amazing chef. He just also happens to be a kick-your-ass chef. I worked on his team during the Worlds of Flavor conference and quickly discovered that he was the most knowledgeable person I’d yet met at the CIA. He’s also the most industrious. During Worlds of Flavor, Team India always arrived an hour earlier and left and hour later than every other team.
Of course that work ethic carried over to Skills One. By the end of the first week, almost everyone in the class realized that an hour of prep before class started was necessary just to get by. Likewise, we were always held at least one hour later than class was supposed to have ended.
Skibitsky originally taught at the Hyde-Park campus. He only just recently moved out to California to work at Greystone. Even more recently, he and his family decided California was not for them and that they were going to move back to New York. We were to be his last class at Greystone before he transferred back to the Hyde Park campus to teach the American Bounty Restaurant part of their curriculum. The tension between the relatively lax methods at Greystone and Skibitsky’s rigorous Hyde Park standards was permanently palpable. If prompted to talk about the differences between the New York and California campuses, Skibitsky would punctuate the descriptions of one coast’s school with quite a few eye rolls.
Despite the coastal culture clash, I did appreciate learning the foundations (stocks, mother sauces, knife cuts) from such a seasoned professional. Too bad I was too nervous around him most of the time to execute anything properly.
Every day immediately went down hill for me with the knife tray. The tray usually consisted of about seven to eight different cuts (dice, batonnet, bruinoise, etc) of various vegetables which we were supposed to complete in a daily decreasing time limit. On my first tray, the one with the greatest time limit, time passed and I’d only completed six out of the eight cuts.
On days that I did finish, I would watch Chef Skibitsky pick out the most heinously bad examples of my handiwork with a long metal needle. He’d line up my fine dice (supposedly quarter inch by quarter inch) against a ruler and shake his head at me when four lined up to an inch and a quarter. Tray after tray and I improved in negligible amounts. Everyone else seemed to score in the nineties. But not me. Not once. I started to get depressed thinking that I’d never be a good cook.
Still, it wasn’t all knife cuts, and sometimes Chef would allow me small victories- like the time he thought my soup was good enough to show to another teacher. In general, my food recieved adequate reviews: my consommés were usually flavorful but a little cloudy; my pommes puree had good consistency but was a tad too salty; my chicken velouté had good color but still tasted a bit like roux.
After I finally accepted that I had absolutely no natural talent in the kitchen, I think I calmed down a touch. The daily knife tray still gave me the jitters, but my “individual production” (the day’s recipes to be prepared and graded) usually scored eights or nines out of ten. I found the less nervous I was, the better my food eventually tasted.
The last day of class, we had our first practical. Typically Skills One doesn’t even have a practical but, of course, Chef Skibitsky thought we could handle one. In two hours we were supposed to cook pasta (made the day before) with pesto, broccoli with hollandaise, glazed carrots, and a chicken consommé. Everyone’s start time was staggered so that there was only a five minute window in which to plate and serve the four dishes.
I was first to start. I put my consommé on and worried over it as the raft seemed to only half-float. The color and clarity seemed alright, though, so I moved on to my pesto. Next, I whisked up some hollandaise and, straining it into a bain marie, crossed my fingers that the emulsion would hold for the next hour and a half. Then, I blanched my broccoli while preparing the glazed carrots. Ninety minutes into the practical, I was finished. I had everything ready, waiting to be warmed and plated, twenty five minutes before I needed it to be.
Once plating and grading finally arrived, I grew more and more terrified as Skibitsky tasted my dishes. The broccoli hollandaise was good though not great, the consommé (as always) not too clear, the carrots not so glazed, and the pasta a “little boring.” Chef asked me what grade I thought I earned and I braced myself for a C. He looked at the paper, tallying up the scores, then looked back at me- “Lindsay, you got a ninety.”
I’m that girl.
I know every class has to have one. But, when you have Skills I with Chef Skibitsky and you’re that girl, you almost feel like you should just abandon kitchen life all together. Skibitsky’s one of those old-school, hard knocks, pay your dues type chefs. He persistently glares about the kitchen finding faults with your knife cuts, your stocks, your mise en place, your speed, your proficiency. He runs his class like a boot camp- a grueling indoctrination into the world of the culinary arts.
This is not to say he isn’t an amazing chef. He just also happens to be a kick-your-ass chef. I worked on his team during the Worlds of Flavor conference and quickly discovered that he was the most knowledgeable person I’d yet met at the CIA. He’s also the most industrious. During Worlds of Flavor, Team India always arrived an hour earlier and left and hour later than every other team.
Of course that work ethic carried over to Skills One. By the end of the first week, almost everyone in the class realized that an hour of prep before class started was necessary just to get by. Likewise, we were always held at least one hour later than class was supposed to have ended.
Skibitsky originally taught at the Hyde-Park campus. He only just recently moved out to California to work at Greystone. Even more recently, he and his family decided California was not for them and that they were going to move back to New York. We were to be his last class at Greystone before he transferred back to the Hyde Park campus to teach the American Bounty Restaurant part of their curriculum. The tension between the relatively lax methods at Greystone and Skibitsky’s rigorous Hyde Park standards was permanently palpable. If prompted to talk about the differences between the New York and California campuses, Skibitsky would punctuate the descriptions of one coast’s school with quite a few eye rolls.
Despite the coastal culture clash, I did appreciate learning the foundations (stocks, mother sauces, knife cuts) from such a seasoned professional. Too bad I was too nervous around him most of the time to execute anything properly.
Every day immediately went down hill for me with the knife tray. The tray usually consisted of about seven to eight different cuts (dice, batonnet, bruinoise, etc) of various vegetables which we were supposed to complete in a daily decreasing time limit. On my first tray, the one with the greatest time limit, time passed and I’d only completed six out of the eight cuts.
On days that I did finish, I would watch Chef Skibitsky pick out the most heinously bad examples of my handiwork with a long metal needle. He’d line up my fine dice (supposedly quarter inch by quarter inch) against a ruler and shake his head at me when four lined up to an inch and a quarter. Tray after tray and I improved in negligible amounts. Everyone else seemed to score in the nineties. But not me. Not once. I started to get depressed thinking that I’d never be a good cook.
Still, it wasn’t all knife cuts, and sometimes Chef would allow me small victories- like the time he thought my soup was good enough to show to another teacher. In general, my food recieved adequate reviews: my consommés were usually flavorful but a little cloudy; my pommes puree had good consistency but was a tad too salty; my chicken velouté had good color but still tasted a bit like roux.
After I finally accepted that I had absolutely no natural talent in the kitchen, I think I calmed down a touch. The daily knife tray still gave me the jitters, but my “individual production” (the day’s recipes to be prepared and graded) usually scored eights or nines out of ten. I found the less nervous I was, the better my food eventually tasted.
The last day of class, we had our first practical. Typically Skills One doesn’t even have a practical but, of course, Chef Skibitsky thought we could handle one. In two hours we were supposed to cook pasta (made the day before) with pesto, broccoli with hollandaise, glazed carrots, and a chicken consommé. Everyone’s start time was staggered so that there was only a five minute window in which to plate and serve the four dishes.
I was first to start. I put my consommé on and worried over it as the raft seemed to only half-float. The color and clarity seemed alright, though, so I moved on to my pesto. Next, I whisked up some hollandaise and, straining it into a bain marie, crossed my fingers that the emulsion would hold for the next hour and a half. Then, I blanched my broccoli while preparing the glazed carrots. Ninety minutes into the practical, I was finished. I had everything ready, waiting to be warmed and plated, twenty five minutes before I needed it to be.
Once plating and grading finally arrived, I grew more and more terrified as Skibitsky tasted my dishes. The broccoli hollandaise was good though not great, the consommé (as always) not too clear, the carrots not so glazed, and the pasta a “little boring.” Chef asked me what grade I thought I earned and I braced myself for a C. He looked at the paper, tallying up the scores, then looked back at me- “Lindsay, you got a ninety.”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Visit to the Organic Gardens at Frog's Leap Vineyards
The following is a photo essay on a trip to Frog's Leap vineyards where the mission is to "Produce wines that deeply reflect the thoughtfully chosen soils and climates from which they emanate".
Excuse the funky formatting... blogger doesn't seem to like this many photos.
The grouds surrounding the property have been recently renovated. All of Frog's Leaps gardens, along with their vines, are grown organically.
As more and more wineries seem to be doing recently, Frog's Leap aims for as green and as natural a growth and harvest of their vines as possible. Their vines are grown by "dry farming" (no irrigation), a method that harkens back to the old Italian manner of wine production in California.
In order to successfully dry farm, Frog's Leap chose the Saint George (Vitis rupestris) root stock which grows under a custom cover blend of peas, oats, and vetch. Apparently, through dry farming, the grapes at Frog's Leap achieve maximum flavor at only around 23 brix as opposed to the more common 28 brix harvest mark for irrigated vines. This lower sugar content allows lower alcohol wines and greater sense of terroir with each crush.
A field of photovoltaic solar panels, accompanied by geothermal power, produces all of the energy that the winery needs.
The vegetable and flower gardens are a bonus attraction for those visitng the vineyards. Visitors can take home much of the day's vegetable harvest for free.
In addition to visual interest, the gardens promote biodiveristy and attract beneficial insect species such as this mo
narch butterfly caterpiller.
narch butterfly caterpiller.
Frog's Leap maintains an apiary in order to increase pollination in the garden and vineyards. Every year, the bees produce about three gallons of honey. In the foreground of the picture, one of Frog's Leap's bountiful olive trees can be seen. Last year one ton of olives and thirty five gallons of olive oil were produced from these trees.
Two chicken coops are kept, one for eggs (and tourist amusement) and another under the solar panel field where the chickens can keep weeds at bay. There's more agri-tainment to come to Frog's Leap with the future addition of some dairy cows.
Fruits of the garden...
Monday, November 12, 2007
Worlds of Flavor 2007
The problem with having so much stuff to write about is that, while all that material-worthy action is going on, there’s not enough time to write anything down. Such has been the case since last week’s World’s of Flavors Conference on “The Rise of Asia.” Admittedly, the details of last week aren’t as fresh in my mind as they could be. Still, I witnessed so much mind-bogglingly impressive culinary expression in those three days that even my stale recollections are worth putting on paper.Like a lot of my classmates who volunteered to work the conference, I was assigned to team India. A day before the conference officially started, our team began organizing the mise en place for all of our pre
senters' recipes. To take a break from the flurry of prepping, I offered to run our orders up from the purchasing department. Just getting to see some of the more unusual ingredients coming through purchasing would have made volunteering a worthwhile effort. Of course the Indian team ordered novel spices like asafoetida, aamchur (mango powder), several kinds of tamarind, and a dozen different masalas. On other teams' speed racks I glimpsed fresh wasabi, galangal, kaffir lime leaves, and mangosteens among boxes and bags of ingredients that I couldn’t even guess as to what they were.During one trip downstairs to collect some of our proteins, Maridith and I stepped out of the walk-in and stood face to face with Masaharu Morimoto. The Iron Chef, clad in a day-glo orange puffy jacket, shorts, and some flip flops, had arrived a day early to inspect his fish order. I pretended to be unmoved by this sudden run-in with a celebrity, but Maridith’s eye’s and smile could not have been bigger.
The next day (the first official day of the conference), I became the de facto personal assistant to the presenter Ammini Ramachandran. Mrs. Ramachandran, or Ammini as she preferred to be called, is the author of Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts a book about recipes and food related memories from her life growing up in the Indian state of Kerala. I was thrilled to be paired up with Ammini. Not only was she a food writer (as I hope to be), but she hailed from a state that I had spent some time in while traveling through India.Though Ammini would never have admitted it herself, she grew up with an aristocratic background -her grandfather was the maharaja of Kochi. Rather than projecting a patrician or entitled air, however, she could not have been more modest or humble about both her heritage and he
r culinary talents. In truth, I sensed that the hectic kitchen environment may have actually intimidated her somewhat. Since she is food writer, rather than a classically trained chef, I think Ammini did not expect to be surrounded by the insane amount of activity that greeted her in the Greystone kitchens. Despite her initial trepidation, however, she jumped into the fray with grace and skill. I flitted about the kitchen gathering equipment and ingredients as she prepared over thirteen individual recipes. Out of the thirteen, my two favorite preparations were her “Brown Stew” of potatoes in spicy coconut milk and a yam and coconut curry. Both were one pot dishes that evoked the essence of Kerelan home cooking that Ammini’s book focused on. Fairly simple to prepare, each of the curries displayed a complex balance of sweet and spicy flavors that I found very appealing.
r culinary talents. In truth, I sensed that the hectic kitchen environment may have actually intimidated her somewhat. Since she is food writer, rather than a classically trained chef, I think Ammini did not expect to be surrounded by the insane amount of activity that greeted her in the Greystone kitchens. Despite her initial trepidation, however, she jumped into the fray with grace and skill. I flitted about the kitchen gathering equipment and ingredients as she prepared over thirteen individual recipes. Out of the thirteen, my two favorite preparations were her “Brown Stew” of potatoes in spicy coconut milk and a yam and coconut curry. Both were one pot dishes that evoked the essence of Kerelan home cooking that Ammini’s book focused on. Fairly simple to prepare, each of the curries displayed a complex balance of sweet and spicy flavors that I found very appealing.Just before the first day of the conference ended, I took a moment to walk through the evening’s “Marketplace.” Gr
eystone’s usually stark barrel room was converted into an overwhelmingly fantastic Asian bazaar. Swaths of colorful fabric hung from every possible corner, music and dancers performed, and conference attendees lined up to receive Thai massages. Food and drink was foisted on me from every table. Morimoto stood at one table signing books and the occasional volunteer’s toque. True to his title, he prepared the standout dish of the night- a dessert of candied salmon and yuzu ice cream.
eystone’s usually stark barrel room was converted into an overwhelmingly fantastic Asian bazaar. Swaths of colorful fabric hung from every possible corner, music and dancers performed, and conference attendees lined up to receive Thai massages. Food and drink was foisted on me from every table. Morimoto stood at one table signing books and the occasional volunteer’s toque. True to his title, he prepared the standout dish of the night- a dessert of candied salmon and yuzu ice cream. By Friday, we had prepped and prepared almost all of Ammini’s recipes. Earlier in the day, I helped bring her mise en place over to the Ventura Center where she demoed her Black Pepper Soup for most of the conference participants. Back in the kitchen, I was able to watch the live feed of Ammini presenting. I could tell that her demure yet engaging banter with the emcee was quite a hit with the audience. After Ammini’s taping, I went back to work heating up some tuvar dal fritters and making five hundred quenelles of semolina pudding for Ammini’s table at that night’s marketplace.
As the conference drew to a close on Saturday night, I was entirely exhausted from over fifty hours of work in four days. Still, I couldn’t believe how exciting the experience had been. I was dizzy with the scope of the food I’d eaten and seen prepared in the last few days and was incredibly grateful to have met so many inspiring chefs, 
diligent cooks, and fascinating writers. Though I was completely worn-out from the conference, I found myself anxious to do the whole thing again next year.
diligent cooks, and fascinating writers. Though I was completely worn-out from the conference, I found myself anxious to do the whole thing again next year. Ammini Ramachandran's site with articles about Kerala and information about her book:
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Food I Can Live Without
I have to admit that, since I’m from the New York metropolitan area, I can be a bit of a snob about certain foods. Pizza, for instance, is manna sent from the gods when bought in the tri-state region. Anywhere else, it’s just tomato sauce and cheesy bread. Bagels, likewise, should not be consumed outside of a 100 mile radius of Manhattan. The term “bagel” should be appellation controlled for this vicinity. Outside of this locale, bagels never seem to have the glossy hard shell or the meaty, tightly formed matrix of bread inside that I would expect from a real bagel. They don’t even seem to taste like a bagel should. Bagels sold in bags at the supermarket are even worse, they are merely bagels in shape only. A true bagel connoisseur would avoid them like a sommelier shuns boxed wine.
At least in the area of bagels, I’d hoped that some of my foodie elitism had worn off on my boyfriend. Last night, though, I found something despicable sitting next to our milk and eggs. I don’t know what prompted Ryan to buy it, but “Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread” is definitely one of the more ludicrous foods I’ve seen in a long
time.
The Thomas’s website has this to say about their product:
“THE GREATEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD IS A REPLACEMENT FOR SLICED BREAD”
“Make the most of any sandwich, burger or snack with Thomas’ Squares Bagelbread. With the versatility of a sandwich bread, you can now add the traditional taste of Thomas’ bagels to any meal you desire.”
“Part Bagel. Part Bread. Totally Delicious.”
First of all, aren’t bagels already completely bread?
Secondly, what self-respecting executive gave the go-ahead for this product?
I imagine the product pitch for bagelbread squares went something like this:
Exec 1: Ok, so you know how bagels are totally boring and you can never seem to put anything on them?
Exec 2: Oh my god, I know! Seriously, why aren’t they more like regular bread? I mean, a circle of bread? How on earth do you hold it?!?!
Exec 1: Exactly! Well I think you’ll be excited by this new product. It takes all the excitement of a square piece of bread and then puts a hole in the middle of it!
Exec 2: You’re not talking about its some sort square-shaped bagelbread are you?
Exec 1: I am.
Exec 2: I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this before. I’m fast-tracking this product and giving you a bonus, you brilliant bagel revolutionary you!
Obviously, the idea is just plain stupid. The product, though, isn’t even executed well either. In no way does it approximate the texture or flavor I’d expect from a bagel. I toasted a piece last night and found it to be a slice of thick, gummy (square) bread with a small hole in the center. Even as bagged bread it would be barely palatable since it manages to be both very dry and chewy.
So lets review:
Bagels should be from New York, round, and tasty.
Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread is from a bag, square, and godawful.
At least in the area of bagels, I’d hoped that some of my foodie elitism had worn off on my boyfriend. Last night, though, I found something despicable sitting next to our milk and eggs. I don’t know what prompted Ryan to buy it, but “Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread” is definitely one of the more ludicrous foods I’ve seen in a long
time.The Thomas’s website has this to say about their product:
“THE GREATEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD IS A REPLACEMENT FOR SLICED BREAD”
“Make the most of any sandwich, burger or snack with Thomas’ Squares Bagelbread. With the versatility of a sandwich bread, you can now add the traditional taste of Thomas’ bagels to any meal you desire.”
“Part Bagel. Part Bread. Totally Delicious.”
First of all, aren’t bagels already completely bread?
Secondly, what self-respecting executive gave the go-ahead for this product?
I imagine the product pitch for bagelbread squares went something like this:
Exec 1: Ok, so you know how bagels are totally boring and you can never seem to put anything on them?
Exec 2: Oh my god, I know! Seriously, why aren’t they more like regular bread? I mean, a circle of bread? How on earth do you hold it?!?!
Exec 1: Exactly! Well I think you’ll be excited by this new product. It takes all the excitement of a square piece of bread and then puts a hole in the middle of it!
Exec 2: You’re not talking about its some sort square-shaped bagelbread are you?
Exec 1: I am.
Exec 2: I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this before. I’m fast-tracking this product and giving you a bonus, you brilliant bagel revolutionary you!
Obviously, the idea is just plain stupid. The product, though, isn’t even executed well either. In no way does it approximate the texture or flavor I’d expect from a bagel. I toasted a piece last night and found it to be a slice of thick, gummy (square) bread with a small hole in the center. Even as bagged bread it would be barely palatable since it manages to be both very dry and chewy.
So lets review:
Bagels should be from New York, round, and tasty.
Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread is from a bag, square, and godawful.
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