This isn’t a new book—it was first released in 1997, but my nightstand stack is high and I’m not always current.  But new doesn’t matter with this story.  Reading Michael Ruhlman’s The Making of a Chef is a really great “armchair” way to fulfill a lifelong fantasy that I’ll bet a whole bunch of us avid home cooks share—that of attending the CIA, the Culinary Institute of America.  There is a short list of really good cooking schools in the United States and the CIA is certainly at the top of that list.

Some time ago, my husband had occasion to go to the CIA to speak to a graduating class of chefs that his company had sponsored.  I was so enamored of the CIA that I took off a couple of days of work so that I could go with him.  We ate in one of the CIA restaurants the night before, and on the day he was speaking, I was offered a tour of the Institute and I think of it to this day.  The first thing I remember is that in front of the main building is a circular drive.  On the spring day we were there, the driveway was lined with gorgeous ice carvings that had been made by students in a class and had been set out for display on the driveway until they melted.  Anybody who’s ever planned a party and innocently asked how much an ice sculpture would be would know that there must have been about $4,000 worth of ice sculptures melting away that day.

While touring the pastry kitchens, and looking at the wonderful things being prepared, I asked the woman I was with what the average weight gain was for CIA graduates.  She laughed and said that everyone asks her that and to my surprise, she said it was only about 15 pounds—so going to the CIA isn’t really any worse that going to any other college and putting on the famous “freshman 15”.

Of course, Michael Ruhlman isn’t too concerned about silly details like that.  But he’s written a detailed chronicle of the process, the personal dynamics at play, and the very hard work that is entailed when you sign up to be a chef at the CIA.   He had a great idea back in the mid 1990s—as a food writer, he felt that he should know more about what it takes to be a chef—and that this knowledge would better inform him as a food writer.  He approached the CIA with an idea to take an abbreviated version of their full course—and write about the experience.  Early on in the process, he became so interested in meeting the challenges of the work and the critiques of his instructors that he decided to complete the course—as a chef would—and not abbreviate the experience too much for the sake of expedient writing.

It is good to learn that most if not all of the things that are made in the CIA course kitchens, are used among the four restaurants that are a teaching part of the campus and the curriculum.   Stock, breads, pastries, everything…is carted around the campus from classroom to kitchens—the production of quality food on a deadline instilled from the beginning course.

The standards are revealed to be exacting, and the pressure of the classes seems to mirror the pressures of being a chef.  He describes the relative strengths and weaknesses of his own work and that of his fellow students—and gives a good picture of why—when we laypeople walk into a restaurant—we can have such a wide variety of experience.  The CIA will definitely turn out a competent chef…and then once they’ve ventured out into the culinary world—the art of cooking and the competency at management of a kitchen will determine the kinds of dining experiences that we all enjoy out there in the world.

I think this book is required reading for anyone considering spending the money to go to culinary school.   If, after reading you still want to go—you probably have what it takes.  In any event, you will have been entertained and interested by this well written and engrossing journey.
The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America by Michael Ruhlman, 2009 Holt Paperbacks

Reading Mark Bittman’s new book, Food Matters feels as good as cleaning out a closet—it’s so energizing to get rid of some of the old stuff and make room for something new and fresh.  His wisdom follows along that of Michael Pollan who wrote both The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food, but his take on the subject is a very personal and practical perspective.

He begins by describing his personal evolution as he has thought about food for the past 30+ years.   As general concerns grow about the origins of our food supply, his have too and he describes his “increasing disgust with the way most meat is grown in this country.”  He also describes how his close engagement with this food supply had helped him to reach the age of 57 carrying an extra 50 pounds with resulting high cholesterol, high blood sugar and sleep apnea.

Reacting to this awareness caused him to invent a new way of living; “vegan until six.”  He cut out  sugars, white flours, processed foods and most animal products during the day.  At night, he ate as before with the change being “more vegetables, fruits, legumes and whole grains and less meat, sugar, junk food, and over refined carbohydrates.”  He continued to enjoy a glass of wine or two, and also admits to occasionally indulging in the old comfort of a hamburger or French fries.  He says, “Remember, this is not about deprivation or ironclad rules, but about being sensible.

I have several of his cookbooks, and have always liked his straightforward, no-nonsense approach to food.    His moniker “the Minimalist” (he is the author of the “Minimalist” column, which runs weekly in the Dining section of The New York Times) is perfect for his style—simple ingredients, clarity of instruction—and voila! Anyone can cook good food.  In Food Matters, he takes the concept to the next level.  From his previous books, he has culled some of the simplest and most healthful recipes and restated them—along with the suggestion that we can all stop dieting, lose weight painlessly, and help the planet restore some sanity to the food-growing process.  He makes a lot of sense, especially when he acknowledges that no one eats like this all of the time—and that even if you only follow this plan some of the time, you will see a positive difference.  That seems sensible and doable.  I enjoyed this book immensely—so much so that I returned my library copy and went out and bought my own to keep.

Food Matters, A Guide to Conscious Eating, by Mark Bittman; 2009; Simon and Schuster.

Brad Kessler has given us a book which combines the literary pleasure of reading words strung together in a lovely, simple, and artful way—with the occasional action of a best selling adventure–and frequent “I didn’t know that” moments of illumination. In the way of Thoreau or Kingsolver, the book is deeply satisfying on several levels.
At the beginning, it draws us into the romantic fantasy that Kessler and his wife lived by throwing it all up and moving from Manhattan to Vermont to buy a farm, raise goats, and make cheese. As Kessler and his wife Donna build their fence, renovate a chicken coop into a goat barn and load their first 4 goats into their vehicle—they are revealed as brave and capable and their growing love, respect, and admiration for their animals is contagious.
Just about every page is a feast for the wordsmith or the sociologist.  Through meticulous research, Kessler has developed a deep knowledge about the history of man and goat and the symbolism and spiritualism of this ancient shepherd and herd relationship.   Interesting facts abound (the kind you read aloud to whomever will listen), as do beautiful turns of phrase, and revelations about living kindly—alone and with neighbors.
At times the book is a real page-turner.  The tending and raising of goats has its raw, gritty, and not-so-nice elements—and the description of the process of goat breeding is both x-rated and hilarious.  And Kessler’s exploration of the ancient nature of man as shepherd is an intriguing facet of our current culture and language.
And finally, the book is a gift to the senses.  The sights and smells of mountains, meadows and animals living their daily lives–the sounds of the goats and the developed touch of the harvesting of their milk are vivid.    The discovery of how goat cheese is made in the most basic, yet skillful way—is fascinating and mouthwatering. And the joy of the two of them sharing their first cheese—laying out the bread and the wine and savoring their first creation…makes you want to run right out and buy a goat, or at least read everything Brad Kessler ever writes.
I highly recommend this book.

Goat Song: A Seasonal Life, A Short History of Herding, and the Art of Making Cheese
By Brad Kessler; 2009, Scribner