Bittersweet
(2003)
Alice Medrich
378 pages, $35

Most cookbooks don’t have a new idea anywhere between their covers. That’s not a criticism. Between now and the end of time, there will be six kajillion more Italian cookbooks published, few of which will have anything resembling a new recipe, but many of them will be quite good, because they’ll entice a new generation of cooks to get into the kitchen and make polenta (or, in the future, space-polenta).

But _Bittersweet_ is something new, because it’s a cookbook all about how to use a new and delicious product–and new and delicious products are even rarer than original cookbooks.

The product is 70% chocolate, or other chocolates with a high percentage of cocoa solids. This was a niche item less than five years ago; now I get 70% Valrhona and Pound Plus bars at Trader Joe’s, and they sell 85% Lindt bars (as well as Scharffen-Berger) at the supermarket down my street.

I prefer a less-sweet chocolate bar, and using a high proportion of cocoa solids means you can’t cover up inferior chocolate. Even the Trader Joe’s 72% Pound Plus bar, which is about four bucks, is great eating chocolate. In my world, this is like Trader Joe’s illicitly importing Iranian caviar and selling it for six dollars a pound.

The trouble with 70% bars is that if you use them in recipes designed for Hershey’s, you’ll run into trouble–just as if you decided to add more chocolate to your cake and put in less sugar. So every single recipe in _Bittersweet_ has instructions for using regular chocolate, 60%-64% chocolate, or 66%-72% chocolate. As for the 85% Lindt bar, you’re on your own. And they’re Medrich’s usual brilliant recipes for ice creams, cakes, cookies, pies, and so on, along with a chapter of savory recipes with chocolate, such as roasted squash soup with cocoa bean cream.

Speaking of cream, try the recipe for Nibby Cream. Heat cocoa nibs (another up-and-coming gourmet chocolate variation) with cream, strain, then chill the cream and whip it for the most subtle and haunting chocolate flavor.

But there’s a much more important reason to buy this book. It brings back into print one of the world’s greatest recipes.

For some reason, probably involving the publishing industry and Satan, Medrich’s book _Cookies and Brownies_ is out of print and rare. In it is the most amazing fudgy brownie recipe of all time, “New Classic Brownies.” The secret is the Steve Ritual, invented by Medrich’s friend Steve Klein, wherein you remove the brownies from the hot oven and plunge the pan into a tray of ice water. Somehow this causes a crackly top and dense, chewy interior. And now the brownie recipe, ritual intact, has been reprinted in _Bittersweet._

A couple of years ago I wrote an article about cookbooks for the Seattle Times in which I mentioned the Steve Ritual. This occasioned an email from the *actual Steve.* This would be like if you bragged on your blog about finding the G-spot, and then got an email from Dr. Grafenberg saying, “You go!”

Naturally I asked Steve if he had any other great ideas to share, but all I got was his plan for Mideast peace. I wasn’t impressed. World-class brownies are a lot harder than that.

Cooking by Hand (2003)
Paul Bertolli
270 pages, $40

Bertolli is the former chef at Oliveto and [Chez Panisse](http://www.chezpanisse.com/) and currently the proprietor of Fra’Mani Handcrafted Salumi. Between that and the title, you won’t be surprised that Cooking By Hand is not a book about meals in minutes. It requires scouring farmer’s markets for specific ingredients for which no subsitutions are given.

This would be obnoxious if not for two things: Bertolli is a superb writer, and the book is a work of art. He’s also a little eccentric: he started a batch of balsamic vinegar when his son was born, in the hopes that the boy will take it over and enjoy it well into his old age. I am imagining a 14-year-old Bertolli Jr. inviting his hoodlum friends over and filling their Super Soakers from the acetaia, but it’s the thought that counts. Bertolli also wrote a short play with characters such as Barolo, Pigeon, and Panna Cotta. One character is listed as:

> *Oxtails: Actually the tail of a cow*

The design of Cooking By Hand is a model that should be studied by every author and designer. It is understated, uses color judiciously, and brings the material to life.

It’s hard to explain what is so appealing about Cooking By Hand without getting philosophical. Many people here in the 21st century, including me, find themselves caught between modernism and some kind of traditionalism. Modernism simultaneously gives us great stuff and a lot of crap. It gives us the Internet and chocolate frozen french fries. The Guggenheim and strip malls. It’s easy to say no to chocolate fries, but often it’s hard to know when to reject modernism’s gifts.

Chefs, I think, are better at balancing modernism and traditionalism than most of us, and Bertolli is especially skilled at this. He stands up for heirloom produce and organic flours and the like, but in his brilliant chapter of charcuterie (“The Whole Hog”), he recommends purchasing a pH meter and a hygrometer, and he uses sodium nitrate in all of his cured meat products. Health issues aside, I have tried many cured meat products with and without nitrates, and nitrates unequivocally improve the flavor of salami, bacon, and certain sausages.

The reason chefs are so good at balancing the new and old ways is that a chef at Bertolli’s level (meaning one who can charge a lot for his food) has one guiding question that helps him navigate this minefield: does it taste better? A couple of years ago I saw Anthony Bourdain give a reading from A Cook’s Tour, and afterwards someone asked him whether he, as a chef, feels a responsibility to use organic and sustainable ingredients. “Sure,” he said, “but as a chef, it’s always first about what tastes great and looks good on the plate.” Most of us don’t and can’t allow ourselves such a simple morality.

If you yearn for the simple life, don’t cure your own meat. But if you want an incredible hybrid of American bacon and pancetta, make Bertolli’s recipe for tesa, on page 202. It calls for 12-1/2 pounds of pork belly. You will also need a specific type of curing salts and a couple of weeks. The pork belly is cured flat (unlike rolled pancetta) with cloves, allspice, nutmeg, juniper berries, garlic, and red wine. Can you taste this yet? Buy your pork belly in one-pound pieces and you can make yourself and eleven of your friends very happy this holiday season. Get to work.

Italian Slow and Savory (2004)
Joyce Goldstein
288 pages, $40

All of a sudden there’s a glut of great books about cooking slowly. In addition to this one, there’s Molly Stevens’s All About Braising (which I’m reviewing tomorrow) and Paula Wolfert’s Slow Mediterranean Kitchen. I own and recommend all three of these books, and it’s a good thing I’m happily married, because if Rachael Ray came over and saw these antitheses to 30-Minute Meals on my shelf, she would probably decline to have sex with me.

Moving on, _Italian Slow and Savory_ is a gorgeously photographed collection of Italian braises, roasts, and slow-cooked vegetable dishes. As with most books of this type, the meat chapter is the, uh, meatiest. I’ve made the pork stew with chestnuts, which was great, and the pork stew with apples, which was less so. The lamb stew with peppers was a hit, although I recommend cooking the mushrooms at the end as a garnish. There are also a number of recipes for *braciole,* braised stuffed beef rolls, something that always looks good but which I’ve never actually tried. There are also appealing pasta sauces, rice casseroles, and so on.

Over on the vegetable side, try slow-roasted onions with balsamic vinegar, “sitting-down” broccoflower (popular prank call in Italy: “Is your broccoflower sitting down?”), and braised radicchio. (Popular prank call in Italy: “Is your radicchio wilted?” I will stop now.)

I do wonder about these slow books. I’m sure they’re very popular with people who mostly read them in bed, because I keep hearing statistics about how the average American meal is cooked in seventeen seconds and most families order Domino’s six days a week. The thing about braises and stews, though, is that you can cook one on Sunday and serve it three times, and it will only get better for spending time in the fridge.

Speaking of Domino’s, this week I got a new Steak Fanatic Pizza flyer, and they’re using a new slogan, which is of course “Steak: It’s What’s For Pizza.” Catchy, isn’t it?