The World's Best Pizza

I really like the pizza we make at home. We get to choose exactly the toppings we want, and we know what goes into the dough. But the truth of the matter is, we have neither an oven that gets up to 800 degrees nor a 30-foot peel for sliding pizzas in and out of such an oven. New Haven, CT's Wooster St. has at least three such pairs. So, naturally, we rented a ZipCar and headed for New Haven. Ostensibly we were going to see my friend Aaron, but there was mutual acknowledgment that this short trip was about one thing and one thing only: pizza.

Our experience with Wooster St. pizza ended up roughly par for the course. We drove past Sally's, which had a line of about 3 people out the door (which I declared to be interminable) and pulled over at Pepe's, a few blocks down. The line outside of Pepe's was suspiciously short for a Friday night, and it turned out that Pepe's itself was closed (just to emphasize: it was closed, but there was still a short line). However, Pepe's has a backup location behind its parking lot, "The Spot," whose pizza is identical. Mia and I stood in line outside Sally's in the pouring rain for about 15 minutes, watching the line grow in front of us as a few families cut to the front (they must have had the infamous "secret number" for reservations). The Sally's line shortens only by attrition; no one without a reservation ever seems to get a seat.

So we doubled back to The Spot and met Aaron, who was saving us a spot in line there. The quality of the pizza was evident through the window, through which we could see Connecticutians biting down on every variety of irregularly shaped piece of pizza. We sat down and ordered two red pies with mozz. - sausage and onion, and vege (without the green peppers). Naturally, the sausage and onion was for me.

The thing that separates New Haven pizza from the rest is the crust. It is thin and crispy, with a smokiness that you do not find anywhere else. Only rarely is it completely blackened, but even then it is delicious after soaking in the pizza's oils and toppings. But anyone can make a crust merely thin - New Haven style crust is not too thin. There is just enough dough to have the perfect bite once you get through the crisp outer layer. The tomato sauce and cheese are of course top rate (though Mia might disagree), but the crust is what makes New Haven pizza one of the most delicious foods in the world. It's hard to capture the crust in a picture, and harder still when your camera is attached to your cell phone, but here is an attempt at close-up of the vege pie:




and here is my personal pie:

If you're ever in New Haven, it is imperative that you head to Wooster St. Pepe's is open for lunch, but the traditional time to go is Sunday in the late afternoon. Show up 20 minutes before opening and you'll be sure to be in the first wave of customers. You won't be disappointed.

Loving and Hating Williams-Sonoma

Stanford Shopping Mall, Palo Alto, California: We walk into the store, our eyes suddenly dancing and darting as we take it all in: shelves piled high with chef's blades, delicate wire whisks, heat-proof mixing bowls. And then our glance alights on the belle of the baking ball: the artisan copper-plated KitchenAid stand-mixer (oh baby), gleaming in all of its glory and reflecting the soft lighting of the store. It almost hurts to look. Almost.

We're in Williams-Sonoma. We saunter past the ceiling-high shelf of trendy cookbooks. Say a quick "hello" to Nigella, Jamie, and Mario. We drift dreamily past the flamboyant crew of salespeople, who whisper sweet nothings into the ears of their co-workers via pop-star style headsets: "a Wusthof set, please," or "I'll need a Le Creuset dutch oven at the sales counter for pick-up."

We're sidetracked by flatware, peelers, juicers, heart-shaped baking tins, fluted tart pans with removeable bottoms. We have no idea what the hell we even came in here for, but we don't care.

I'm sure you've felt the same rush as you walk into Williams-Sonoma, too. How could you feel anything else? For food dorks like me, Williams-Sonoma is like Disneyworld. Or sex. When you're in there, transfixed by the array of gleaming, stainless steel merchandise, it's just too easy to look past the ridiculousness of it all; the over-the-top glut of kitchen gear, the gaggle of jarred sauces and marinades, the Barefoot Contessa baking mixes (1st step: get out your double boiler!).

For real enlightenment, you need the catalog, which unfortunately doesn't exude the magical aura of the store. Jonathan receieved the January 2008 catalog a few days ago, and this morning, while making some oatmeal in an utterly unremarkable Ikea saucepan, I stole a look. All-Clad (p. 54): nice. Le Creuset (p. 56): very nice. Hand-cranked nut chopper (p. 30): are you kidding me?

Who, exactly, do they think wants a stupid, one-purpose nut-chopper cluttering up their kitchen? Or how about the filled-pancake pan (p. 11)? Not that I wouldn't use that all the time. And there's the frittata pan (p. 15), which, for a mere $135, allows you to forego the horrendously difficult step of sticking your frittata under the broiler for 1 minute. The list, of course goes on: flexible finger guard, vegetable grip, stainless steel rolling mincer...

Yes, it's true, Williams-Sonoma is a fraud. It isn't the serious chef's innocent guardian angel, but rather a raging cookware demon, taking advantage of the poor rubes who think it's worthwhile to shell out $40 for some frozen cinnamon buns that you can bake at home in your own oven.

I will say that in addition to all of the crap, Williams-Sonoma does sell some nice things. There are some kitchen gadgets - good paring knives, graters, immersion blenders - that add plenty of value to the kitchen. It's just too bad that they have to waste so much space in their catalog with all of the junky stuff aimed at bored housewives in McMansion-sized kitchens with too much time and not enough common sense for their own good. Oh, the humanity.

So there, Williams-Sonoma. You suck. But also, you're awesome. See you next time I'm at the Stanford Shopping Mall? Promise you'll have the headsets? Cool.

A Bite From Last Night

Well, it's that time of year - finals and papers are upon us, and cooking has become a sneaky little excuse to procrastinate. Not surprisingly, procrastination is something we pretty much have down to an art. At least cooking is a more worthwhile endeavor than perusing Facebook.

Last night, we took a break from writing theses and reading economics papers to cook a Japanese-ish dinner for a few friends (bolstered by some take-out sushi). We served buckwheat soba noodles in a miso-ginger broth with shiitake mushrooms, cubes of soft tofu, and spinach. The leftover bite, though, was this lovely soy-sauce egg:


No time for any real recipes today - we've already taken our breaks by preparing some bread dough (bread updates coming soon!) - but these eggs are cute, tasty, and easy. Just prepare hard-boiled eggs, and when they cool slightly, crack the shells lightly all over. Simmer for half an hour or so in a broth of one part water, one part soy sauce, and flavored with fresh ginger if you like. Make sure the eggs are completely submerged, and let steep for a few minutes after simmering.

Thanksgiving Redux

Due to popular demand, I thought I'd post about my most recent culinary adventure: cooking for Thanksgiving at my parents' house in Westford, Massachusetts. Luckily for me, I was put in charge of everything from turkey to dessert, and didn't stop baking/brining/cooking/roasting from Tuesday evening until mealtime on the big day.

I won't bore you with the all the turkey-day details, since most of you have probably moved on from T-day to bigger holidays at this point. However, I'll give you a brief rundown of the menu, some important tips that I discovered while preparing it, and my favorite picks. And for your enjoyment I offer a mental image (no photos were taken, unfortunately): I decided to brine my 12-lb. turkey, which meant a whole lot of wrestling with my raw little bird, trying to get it just right in the brining bag and the big, plastic bin I had readied for the job. Twelve pounds only seems small - trust me, it was a struggle.

So, here is my menu:

Curried butternut soup with wild rice
Fennel and orange salad with black olives
Smashed peas with mint and walnuts
Roasted, Indian-spiced sweet potatoes with chick peas
Sauteed brussels sprouts with shallots and chestnuts
Turkey, brined and basted with butter and riesling
Cornbread stuffing with apples and chestnuts
Cranberry-fig sauce
Carrot and sage cornbread mini-muffins
Pumpkin mascarpone pie
Chocolate amaretto torte with candied almonds
Vegan apple tart
Almond biscotti

The most notable aspect of my cooking experience was brining the turkey. I followed a Martha Stewart recipe for the brine and for the roasting process itself, which involved unheard-of amounts of butter and an entire bottle of white wine. The turkey was indeed moist and incredibly delicious, although I must admit that I'm not convinced that this was due to the brining process. Since roast turkey is something I have only once a year, it's hard for me to accurately assess the value of the brine, but my mom also suspects that an equally delicious turkey can be had without the wrestling involved with brining.

As for the rest of the menu, my big tip is not to do brussels sprouts for Thanksgiving. I love brussels sprouts, but they are really best eaten fresh - directly after sauteing or roasting. Unless your Thanksgiving schedule allows for immediate eating (mine didn't, and the result was slightly bitter sprouts), I'd say save the sprouts for more laid-back occasions.

What were the favorites, you might be wondering? My favorite dish was probably the soup, but as has previously been established, I am obsessed with all things squash. My aunt Caren raved about the sweet potatoes, which were moist, spicy, and a nice change of pace from traditional Thanksgiving sweet potato dishes that are loaded with butter, cream, and sugar. The cornbread stuffing (made with homemade cornbread) was also a hit. The apples were the perfect touch. Two more of my personal favorites were the cranberry-fig sauce and the cornbread mini-muffins.

I made the cranberry sauce with fresh cranberries, red wine, a splash of balsamic vinegar, and dried black mission figs. I also added a tiny bit of orange juice, and seasoned it with cinnamon sticks and cloves. The flavors were strong and just barely sweet enough, and the leftovers were perfect smeared on crackers...or straight from the Tupperware. The mini-muffins were a last-minute idea, and I improvised the recipe. Fresh sage and a bit of parmesan cheese made for cute and savory little morsels, which went well with the soup.

And then there was dessert. The pumpkin mascarpone pie, which I took straight from Bon Appetit's Thanksgiving issue, was hands-down the best pumpkin pie I have ever had. I made the crust, and my sister Emma made the filling. The chocolate amaretto torte was also a hit. It turns out that you can't go wrong with high-quality chocolate, absurd amounts of butter, and liquor. Who knew? I, however, am partial to the biscotti, because I can eat an infinite amount of them and not feel like barfing. Not so with the torte. Trust me.

Oh, and the apple tart: My cousin Matt, who eats vegan, came for dessert, so I needed a Thanksgiving sweet that did not include butter, eggs, cream, or chocolate. Yikes. I bought a vegan pie crust from Whole Foods (shh, don't tell anyone!), let it thaw until pliable, and used it as the base for a free-form apple tart made with honeycrisp apples. It was incredibly simple, and turned out quite well.

So, there it is: Thanksgiving 2007. I can hardly wait for next year.

Skillonnet

[Or, A Sonnet About My Skillet]

Pre-seasoned did she come, to my delight;
Black and sturdier than I expected.
I tore her packing quick to cook that night,
Pans and Pyrex were to be neglected.

Serenely in the oven she preheated,
Whilst I cracked eggs with glee that knew no bounds.
To what a treat my guests would soon be treated,
Rumors of cornbread now making the rounds.

Needless to say it was success unmatched,
The skillet days had only just begun.
Frittatas slide out with no egg attached,
Pancakes and faina cook just until done.

Oh, ferrous vessel why aren’t you endemic?
Especially for us who are anemic?

For Novelty's Sake

Anybody who knows me well knows that I adore any and all things miniature. If it's tinier than it should be, it's right up my alley. When I go to ice cream shops, I surreptitiously save my taster-sized spoon, rejecting the gargantuan utensil plopped into my final order. There is just nothing cuter than something mini. So, imagine my delight (and child-like squeals) when I happened upon a crate of lady apples while perusing the aisles of our local Whole Foods.

I had never heard of, or seen, lady apples until that joyful moment, and unhesitatingly dumped a few handfuls into a produce bag. There was no deliberation; not so much as a glance at the price or even an inspection of the individual fruits themselves. Who knows if I even needed apples in the first place? This was a novelty purchase.

A few days later I was standing in the kitchen, minuscule fruit perched between thumb and finger, munching carefully on my precious little apple. Jonathan's roommate asked me what kind of freakish thing I was eating. "Oh, it's a lady apple." To which she posited, "Well, why are you eating it like that?" And I, defensively: "It's so small that there isn't really much flesh...you have to be careful or you'll bite through the core."

And then, her naive response: "I guess you can't really buy food just for the novelty..."

Can't buy food for the novelty? What is this, the Soviet Union? Of course you can buy food for the novelty. Indeed, novelty is one of my primary purchase motivations for half of the things I buy. Certainly I am not defending myself on the grounds of practicality or common sense; I once had lofty dreams of turning my wee lady apples into dinner party-appropriate caramel confections, but that didn't exactly happen. And yes, that marinated feta with the capers and herbs is still in the fridge, lonely and half-eaten, its novelty having worn off some.

But if you think you are both reading this food blog and living in a world in which true practicality actually matters, I think we all know that you are kidding yourself. Novelty foods, and, I suppose, other novelty items, are exciting, sometimes delicious, and at the very least, potential conversation starters. Why not indulge?

A couple of weeks ago, we bought famed Italian farro (an ancient whole grain) for the first time. At $7 per pound, it isn't exactly staple material, but, as Jonathan so aptly pointed out in his last post, how can you resist anything the Italians do? If they eat farro, I'll try it at least once. I would have bought it if it had cost $20 per pound (maybe). Perhaps I am just more culinarily curious than most, but the novelty of novelty goods hasn't quite worn off for me yet. I'll take a meal of microscopic, fleshless fruit and toothsome ancient grains over meat and potatoes any day.

Coffee Roasting I

When worked at Analysis Group, before I drank coffee, I used to listen wide-eyed to the VPs' tales of home coffee roasting. Steven Shurmann had just convinced AG to shell out for a fancy in-office espresso maker, with built-in water filters and surely more than the standard 15 bars of pump pressure, and he and Armando brought freshly roasted beans from their homes every Monday morning. Coffee roasting appealed more to my aesthetic sense of the good life than to my tastebuds.

But then, that fateful night when I first started to study hard for the microeconomics general exam (a big test grad students take at the end of their first year) a few years ago, I decided to give coffee another try. Maybe it was several years worth of beer bitterness, or maybe it was simply my more advanced age, but that night, the free coffee at the Bureau (National Bureau of Economic Research, where I have a desk) actually tasted sort of good. It wasn't long before I ordered my own coffee roaster (I went with the economical Fresh Roast) and sample pack of green beans.

In this post I will describe the basic roasting process. When I do my cupping later this week or early next week (depending on when the beans arrive), I will talk about comparing different roast styles and different coffees. The beans arrive (from the ubiquitous sweetmarias.com) processed but unroasted. They are green and have a faint earthy smell totally unlike the smell of roasted coffee. Here, for example, is a picture of my new India Anohki beans ("a rare and intense coffee, odd blueberry sweetness and hidey, rustic chocolate, low acidity, bizarre!").

The unroasted beans can survive at room temperature for years.

To roast, you throw the beans in the roaster, which is really just a glorified popcorn popper (with a special basket for the chaff - during roasting, the beans shed their outermost layer). They slowly turn a light brown, and you smell a popcorny smell. Then they start to crackle - the "first crack" is loud and assertive.


As they get darker in color after the first crack, the smoke becomes stronger and smells a little bit more like the coffee smell we're used to. A light roast is stopped before the second crack, which is characterized by more frequent but less powerful crackling noises. Here's a darker roast, which I stopped about 15 seconds into the second crack:


After the second crack, there's a lot of smoke, and you're getting into French and Spanish Roast territory. If you get to the mythic and dreaded third crack, head to Peet's after desperately waving a towel under the smoke detector to ward off the fire department's expensive and probably unnecessary visit.

My sources vary on how long you should wait to drink the coffee after it's roasted, but it's certainly no more than on the third morning after roasting. I'm beginning to believe in the roast-10-minutes-before-you-drink model, which my new coffee roasting book attributes to the Italians. I can't resist anything the Italians do.

A Question From My Mother

Well, lucky me - I have another cooking question to answer, this time from my mother. She writes:

I made oven-baked fries seasoned with fresh dill, oregano, pepper, and kosher salt. I tossed with olive oil. Still, I thought they were bland and not at all like the Greek-style fries that I love. Ideas? Probably fresh garlic would do the trick?

I love oven-baked fries, and we used to get them at a fantastic, family-run Greek restaurant near our house when I was at home. They always sliced the potatoes lengthwise in wide, flat oval-shaped sheets, maximizing surface area for a tangy and heartily-seasoned treat.

But, back to the question at hand: Yes, I think you are quite right that fresh garlic would make the fries more robust. I would approach these like a Greek-seasoned crouton; creating an olive-oil based mixture to brush over each potato slice. In this case, since you are going for Greek, I would keep the oregano but forget the dill. Dill can be nice, but it won't really go with the garlicky taste that you are after here. Instead, I would replace it with another Greek flavor, such as dried mint, or maybe parsley.

I would also recommend adding some lemon juice to your spice and oil mixture. This will definitely impart some Greek-ness to your fries. Here is my recommendation, in rough recipe form:

Oven-baked French Fry Dressing

1/4 c. olive oil
2-3 pressed garlic cloves
generous kosher salt and freshly-grated black pepper
dried oregano and mint to taste
2 or so tbs. lemon juice

Whisk ingredients together thoroughly, and spread on potato slices using a kitchen brush.

Let me know how they turn out next time!

Eating "Healthy"

As Jonathan noted in a recent post, I am the bearer of a modified version of his pumpkin bread. This modified version is what I like to call "healthy." I'll explain the special definition of "healthy" momentarily, but first it is important to note that this blog, while gooey with homemade-ice cream and greasy with homemade mayonnaise, is actually a pretty healthy, self-contained little universe. Most of my own recipes (you'll see plenty of them soon) are whole-grain, chock full of vegetables, or otherwise nutritious. So, that is why you'll see so many "healthy" treats, starting, of course, with pumpkin bread.

One should note that "healthy" is not the same as healthy. Steamed broccoli is healthy. Reduced-fat muffins are "healthy." Oat bran is healthy. Whole-wheat chocolate chip cookies are "healthy." Get the idea? Now, to make things even more complicated, some "healthy" recipes really are quite nutritious, while others aren't quite as nutritious, but are improvements over other, really unhealthy things. I think that you can decide for yourself whether "healthy" is close to healthy or to unhealthy. However, I am here to guide you taste-wise. If a "healthy" recipe really tastes quite different from the original, you will be amply notified.

Many of my recipes are "healthy" because I have a raging sweet tooth, and couldn't possibly live without delicious treats like pumpkin bread, gelato, and brownies. Especially brownies. When I crave something sweet and home-baked, but haven't necessarily earned the right to indulge myself, "healthy" recipes save the day. I fully advocate the occasional and utter indulgence, but perhaps not every day. Or at least not at every meal.

If you are still skeptical of the idea of "healthy" recipes, and would prefer to just have the honest-to-goodness stuff less frequently, consider this: how incredibly awesome it is to have something home-baked that can serve both as tasty dessert and as hearty breakfast. If this doesn't make the case for "healthy," I don't know what does.

Now, enough of that intellectualized "healthy" crap, and on to the recipe for "healthy" pumpkin bread:

"Healthy" Pumpkin Bread

1 c. whole wheat flour
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1-2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
2 eggs
1 c. + 3 tbs. solid-pack pumpkin puree
1/3 c. vegetable oil
1/3 c. buttermilk

Sift dry ingredients (not sugar) and mix remaining ingredients in a separate bowl. Mix wet into dry ingredients, being careful not to overmix. Pour batter into greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for 45 min., or until tester inserted comes out clean.

Jonathan will be quick to tell you about the time when I made this pumpkin bread way too "healthy." It was basically healthy at that point. It was also rather...spongy? This recipe is the happy medium, and you will hardly be able to tell the difference between it and the original, unless you do a side-by-side taste test. I'll admit that the original is better for dessert. But this is pretty damn good.

A Question From My Sister

An aspiring foodie herself, my sister Emma came to me last night in search of some culinary advice. I was pleased with this request, not only because it presented me with a challenge and future blog post, but also because when I still lived at home 3 or so years ago, Emma could barely make herself a bowl of cereal. My, how she's grown! Her question is as follows:

The other night, I made whole wheat cous cous with a little butter, salt, and cumin, then served it with sauteed onions, peppers, and broccoli, with plain yogurt on the side. It was good, but a bit bland. Can you suggest something to spice it up a bit?

Here are some general tips, and some specific ideas for this meal:

My first tip is to pick a flavor theme for this meal. When I'm throwing a bunch of veggies and grains together, I usually am thinking that it will have Indian-inspired spices, or Moroccan-ish flavors. This shouldn't hold you back by any means, but should give you some direction, and hopefully make the meal more interesting.

Next, I'd think about how to cook the grains in this recipe. I almost never cook grains without adding some seasonings. This adds depth of flavor and allows you to mix and match tastes without over-seasoning one element of the meal. When I make quinoa, for example, I usually start by sauteing some garlic and onion in the saucepan, and then adding the water and quinoa. Cous cous is a bit trickier, since you don't cook it in the same way you cook other grains - most recipes call for steeping the dry cous cous in hot water for about 5 minutes or so. However, feel free to add spices or crushed garlic to the steeping water. This will infuse the cous cous with whatever flavors happen to be tickling your taste buds. Another easy option is to steep in broth rather than water. Instant flavor, minimal effort.

Ok, so what to do with this recipe? I have a few suggestions:

Take the Mediterranean/Moroccan route: When cooking the cous cous, add a dash of cinnamon, cayenne, and cumin to the steeping liquid. Throw in a splash of good olive oil, too. You could even try some chopped green onions or other fresh herbs, if you have them on hand. Once the cous cous has steeped, try adding one or a few flavorful accents. I love garbanzo beans, raisins, and toasted pine nuts. The beans and pine nuts also add some protein to this meal.

Now for the veggies. I'd skip the broccoli in this case, since it doesn't really fit the Mediterranean flavor profile. If you still want something green, try sauteing some spinach with those onions. Add some garlic, cayenne, salt, pepper, and cumin, and you've got yourself a flavorful accompaniment for the cous cous. And what about the peppers? In my mind, nothing tops off a Mediterranean meal like roasted red peppers. Roast whole peppers over the burner of a gas stove, or pop them in a hot oven until skins are charred. Let them cool, and then remove the burned skins.

For the yogurt on the side: You could keep things simple by serving Greek-style yogurt with nothing added to it. The rest of the meal is flavorful enough that this is a good option. However, if you want to get fancy, you could try a tzatziki-like yogurt dish. Mix the plain yogurt with shredded cucumber, salt, pepper, and fresh garlic. Let it sit for a bit so the flavors can mingle before serving.

Try any or all of these steps, and see how it turns out. Of course, if you don't want Mediterranean influences, you could also try Indian: curry powder, garam masala, peas, raita-inspired yogurt, tomatoes, and cauliflower; or Latin American: cumin, garlic, chili powder, black beans, sauteed peppers and onions, low-fat sour cream, etc.

Hope this helps!

Homemade Mayo

Jonathan's brother, Andy, recently embarked on the culinary adventure of making homemade mayonnaise. He, like me, has noticed a cultural trend that stigmatizes mayonnaise, causing yuppies and calorie-conscious gym-goers alike to claim that they "hate" mayonnaise, and that it "grosses them out." As both a yuppie and a calorie-conscious gym-goer, I must admit that I generally abstain from mayonnaise. However, I will not go so far as to say I hate it, and I certainly appreciate that the non-conformists among us are willing to whip up a homemade batch now and again.

For those of you unfamiliar with the process of making homemade mayonnaise, the key element is emulsion. Since mayonnaise is a an emulsion of vinegar and fat (oil, egg yolk), careful precision is necessary while mixing the ingredients. Andy explains his experience below:

The first step is combining together in a bowl:

2 tbs. red wine vinegar

1 tbs. lemon juice

Minced garlic, to taste

Salt, to taste (1-2 tsp.)

1 egg yolk

Next, beat this concoction with a whisk until it is completely mixed. Now comes the hard part:

Add the oil (about 3/4c.). This must be done quite literally one drop at a time. With the addition of each drop, you have to demonically whip the concoction to force air into it. Once you've worked a decent amount of the oil into the emulsion, you can start adding the oil 2-3 drops at a time. On our first go we whipped for a while and produced a light liquid - nothing near mayo. In an act of desperation we dumped the mixture into the blender, which, miraculously, did the trick. However, to test the method, we made a second batch that started in the blender, and this didn't fare as well. Not surprisingly, many online recipes warn readers about the arm-soreness related to making mayonnaise.

Fortunately, it's easy to tell whether you've succeeded in creating the proper mayo emulsion. After adding the oil one of two things will happen: 1) Just when you think your arm will fall off, your emulsion will magically turn into real, live, mayonnaise. This is success. 2) Just when you think your arm will fall off, your emulsion will continue to look like a thin, unappetizing liquid. This is failure. Toss it, and start again, preferably with someone else doing the whisking this time.

According to Jonathan, when asked whether homemade mayonnaise was worth the effort, when there are so many other things to make, Andy replied that "only someone who has never tried homemade mayonnaise would ask that question."

It's probably not an everyday project, but apparently worth it on special occasions. And, to appease those who are appalled by the unhealthiness of recent posts (honest-to-goodness ice cream, while delicious, is best consumed in moderation), we will be posting some healthier recipes soon. I promise.