Those old enough to remember 1970s television might recall the pre-cable, slot-filling cooking shows, where Julia Child and the Galloping Gourmet reigned among brick-walled kitchens and hanging copper pots.  You might also remember a dashing Frenchman named Jacques Pépin, who entered the NY cooking scene in the early 1960s and quickly rose through the ranks via talent, connections, and joie de vivre.

His memoir, The Apprentice:  My Life in the Kitchen, reads as a response to all the people who must have told him over the years, "Jacques, you've had an incredible life.  Why don't you write an autobiography?" And so he did, with equal parts humility and insouciance.

Indeed, beginning with his childhood in small-town France, he suffuses The Apprentice with a modesty and gratitude that never descends into an "aw shucks, little ol' me?" corniness.  It's as if the better parts of his French and American natures rose to the surface to produce a noble and modest reflection on a fascinating – indeed, charmed – life.  His advancement in the culinary world was phenomenal yet uncalculated, his successes the result of 10% hard work and 90% simply being in the right place at the right time.

The hard work began early and crafted an ethic that helped him rise through an increasingly prestigious succession of French restaurants.  Packed off in 1949 to a three-year apprenticeship with Le Grand Hôtel de l'Europe in Bourg-en-Bresse, at the age of 14 yet still dressed in the short pants of a boy, he describes in engaging detail the system of brigade de cuisine, the traditional and intense training where aspiring chefs spend years cycling through every station in the kitchen.  Progression is prohibited until mastery is achieved.

His is an incredible insight into the overheated, frantic, steamy and mysterious world that sparks a voyeuristic response in any dedicated foodie.  Pépin's explication of the traditional apprenticeship is worth the price of the book alone, not just for the nostalgic details of a sometimes esoteric field, but also because it is a startling contrast to today's specialized roles in U.S. kitchens, where a cook is hired and trained to do one thing and one thing only. In fact, it's hard to imagine someone today, in our celebritized culture of culinary rock stars, deigning to submit to the militaristic regime of Pépin's era, where there was room in the kitchen for only one ego.  Indeed, Pépin, who started as a cleaner – of the kitchen, not food – was forbidden to even approach le piano, the immense oven at the heart of Le Grand Hôtel's kitchen.

Finally, after a year of unpaid 15-hour days spent cleaning, prepping and observing, the "Chef suddenly materialized” beside him.

    "Quietly and with no inflection, he said, 'Jacques.'
    It was the first time I'd heard him utter my proper name.
    ‘Tomorrow you start at the stove.'"

Yet after a three-year tour of duty, he still had risen no higher than third commis, "a trainee, one tiny step above apprentice."

The other value of Pépin's memoir is the insight he offers laypeople into simple French country cooking. The French's love of offal, if we have learned nothing else from Anthony Bourdain, exhibits a passion for frugality that extends to every ingredient available, sparing nothing and turning it all into a hearty meal.  Following his move to America, Pepin could be seen tramping through the woods hunting for wild mushrooms or scouring the Mendocino coastline for escargots.  Even Billy, a feral sheep terrorizing his Hunter, NY neighborhood, became sautéed kidneys and sweetbreads.

As his many anecdotes show, you can take the boy out of the countryside, but you can't take the countryside out of the boy.  Despite his Parisian training and a diplomatic job cooking elaborate, no-budget meals for heads of state (following an unexpected turn of political events that landed him the title First Chef of France), many of the recipes with which Pépin ends each chapter are from his beloved Maman:  cheese soufflé, apple tart, stuffed eggs.  In fact, only four of the nineteen recipes come from his high-end chef days.  The remainder are hearty soups, brasserie fare and favorites he adopted from his friends in the U.S.:  pork ribs and red beans, scallop ceviche, pasta primavera.  His simple recipe for Chicken Salad à la Danny Kaye, who was famous for comedy but largely unknown for his enviable talent as a chef, sets a new standard for a pretty basic dish – it's that good.  In addition, Pépin's recipes are simple and use only common, unpretentious ingredients, yet they are elaborately explained, eliminating any of the familiar "Does this mean I'm supposed to…" doubts that recipes sometimes foster.  His recipes and his instructional manner – actually, the man himself – are the perfect antidote for anyone intimidated by French cuisine, which perhaps explains his wide appeal to Americans.

Pépin, in the 73rd year of a rather charmed life, is enjoying a full-on embrace of the multimedia world.  He has too many book titles to list, but most notable are his seminal cooking guides, La Technique and La Methode.  These manuals are, interestingly enough, the means by which Tom Colicchio taught himself how to cook, and are available combined under the title Complete Techniques.  Pépin also has a website (www.jacquespepin.net) and a PBS series on DVD, Jacques Pépin: Fast Food My Way, with a follow-up, More Fast Food My Way, reportedly in the works.

When it comes to restaurant reviews by diners, for diners, the folks at Zagat have been doing it longer than just about anyone else out there.  Beginning in New York in 1979, they have conducted yearly surveys of frequent diners (starting with their friends and expanding to include thousands of people in cities around the world) and using their results to provide their iconic ratings of venues' Food, Decor, Service and Cost.  With that sort of participation, is it any wonder that restaurateurs watch the guide closely and are quick to point out categories in which they score well?

Today's release of the 2009 edition of the DC-Baltimore (that's right, we still have to share) guide should prompt a new round of press releases and emails touting high ratings and inclusion on the "Most Popular" list.  And with yesterday's announcement of the participants in next month's DC Summer Restaurant Week, the timing for this release couldn't be better.  Available in local bookstores for $14.95 or at amazon.com for $10.17, the "burgundy bible" can give you a quick glimpse into the opinions of more than 7,200 DC diners as you prepare to make your Restaurant Week reservations.

To help promote the release of the new guide, owners Tim and Nina Zagat have come down to Washington from their home in New York.  Over coffee, I sat down to talk about some interesting statistical findings, a few surprises in the new guide and the role of Zagat's guides and other products in an increasingly digital society. 

I began by asking about the reasons behind the combination of Washington and Baltimore - a bit of New York snobbery, perhaps?  They assured me that it was more a concession to Baltimore than a snub to DC - while Washington could support a guide on its own, Baltimore's restaurant scene didn't quite do the trick.  Because the two are separated by less than an hour's drive, they felt that the combination allowed diners in both cities to see what the other had to offer and it allowed for a larger print run resulting in lower costs for both cities.  Take that, wounded pride!

The biggest news, for those who follow the guide's results closely, is Makoto's receipt of top honors in the category of Food.  While the Inn at Little Washington retained its place atop the Decor and Service categories, they placed second to the MacArthur Boulevard kaiseki establishment "by hundredths of a point," according to Tim.  This is in keeping with a national trend that has seen Japanese cuisine rise in prominence across the country - a result that the Zagats say was unheard of even five years ago. 

And that miniscule (but significant) difference in rankings is where the Zagats feel the strength of their model lies.  With thousands of reviewers, they have a series of filters in place that they use to weed out industry shills and others who might try to skew the results.  Those who do participate are asked to submit their opinions on a scale of 0-3 for each restaurant, from which the guide gives an averaged result (multipied by 10 to result in the 30-point scale).  This forces reviewers to think long and hard about whether a restaurant is excellent (3), good (2), fair (1) or poor (0).  They've experimented with other formats, including the more widely used 0-5 scale, but have found that more options tend to lead to results that drift toward the center as voters hesitate to give 5's and 1's and settle into that middle range for most of their rankings.

Here in Washington, the 2009 survey turned up some interesting results about our dining habits.  No longer a city of steakhouses and expense-account lunches, Washington's average meal is $4.33 below the national average.  Maybe that's why so many of those surveyed (62%) indicated that they are willing to pay more for food that is sustainably raised.  In addition to a preference for sustainable agriculture, seven in ten of us said that we consider local sourcing important.  Taking these results to heart, the Zagats indicated that they are looking into the most appropriate way to highlight green practices, commitment to organic ingredients and/or local sourcing as a "Special Feature" category for future ratings - much as breakfast, chef's tables and 'power scenes' are in this year's guide.

It should come as no surprise to D.C. Foodies that we are far more digitally inclined than our neighbors to the north - 37% of the participants in the DC survey indicated that they use online reservation sites like OpenTable while only 17% do so in New York.

As a writer for a food blog, I was especially interested in learning the Zagats' views of online reviewers and in hearing about their own evolving web presence.  Tim was quick to acknowledge the value in the multitude of local voices that the proliferation of food blogs provides - "You live here," he says.  "Who knows the food in your neighborhood better than you?"  But he went on to point out the need for common frames of reference to help people determine which voices mirror their own.  A sixty year-old married man, for example, is unlikely to seek out the same sort of establishment as a twenty-six year-old single woman.  According to Zagat, both voices are important (and useful on their own) but the blending of those voices is a strength of Zagat.

Nina was a wonderful ambassador for the Zagat web presence, encouraging me to take out my BlackBerry and check out the Webby-winning zagat.mobi site designed for mobile accessibility.  By registering at the main Zagat site and then signing in on your mobile device, you can access a significant portion of their content while on the go - helpful when trying to choose among the various restaurants in a given neighborhood once you're there.  Registration on the site also allows you to join the ranks of the Zagat reviewers - you can vote year-round and then submit your votes for the annual survey when the time comes.

After talking about the specifics of the new survey and the increasing importance of Zagat's online presence, we spoke for a while about the rise of celebrity chefs and television's increasing obsession with food.  Tim said he was unsure how he felt about the whole thing, and he took the opportunity to correct a misrepresentation in David Kamp's "The United States of Arugula."  Though he acknowledges criticizing Emeril's on-screen persona as reported in the book, Tim adds that he saw the run-away success that Emeril attained and told Emeril to "forget what I said about all that" six months later...though he might know something about food, he said, he readily admitted he knew nothing about television.

Despite the fact that they no longer participate in the surveys themselves, I was unable to get either of the Zagats to admit to any favorite DC restaurants ("Unlike Katherine Harris," said Tim, warming to District's political culture, "I try to remain impartial while I do my job.").  On their current visit, they stopped by Central last night and will be enjoying lunch at the new WestEnd Bistro today before joining a reporter from the Washington Post for a whirlwind tour of 15 restaurants tonight.

Tim said the tour will be more about impressions than dining, as even the smallest taste at each of 15 restaurants can dull the senses and make it hard to get a good read on a place.  That being said, he reiterated an assertion he has made for some time - that a diner can be 85-90% certain of the experience they will have in a restaurant within the first five minutes.  Attention to the decor, the service, views of neighboring tables' food, aromas and sounds all assert themselves within that first period.  We'll see if his record remains intact after tonight's marathon.

Few things can round out a dinner party or take the chill out of a gloomy day better than a perfectly executed baked treat. Similarly, only the rarest of kitchen mishaps can elicit the same howls of frustration as a dessert gone awry – the glaze that boiled into hard candy, the uneven cake, the mysterious metallic flavor you can’t quite pin down. The fickleness of baking can be enough to drive even the most confident cooks from their mixers.

Melissa Murphy’s The Sweet Melissa Baking Book takes the guesswork out of baking while offering up an array of fun, sweet treats. Her conversational style guides the reader through the book, providing anecdotal history on family traditions and customer favorites from her Brooklyn patisseries. Many recipes include suggestions for storage, cutting like a pro and serving ideas. Most importantly, all of the recipes can be executed with equipment found in a reasonably stocked kitchen.

Although Murphy’s style focuses on simple recipes executed well, her options turn up the volume on classic favorites. Murphy’s Guinness gingerbread, which I baked for a pregnant friend on St. Patrick’s Day so she could keep her stout tradition alive, debuted as a rich, dense cake. The use of high quality chocolate and Guinness laid an earthy platform and the surprising addition of white pepper gave our tongues an extra kick. Fair warning: this recipe requires you to simmer the stout in a saucepan for a few minutes, causing your kitchen to smell like a frat house on Sunday morning. Luckily the baking bread pushes this aside with clouds of delicious goodness once it’s in the oven.

The butterscotch cashew bars were a first for me and I wasn’t sure what to expect. This turned out to be a dish that is high on presentation but fairly low on effort. Although the recipe calls for a homemade shortbread crust, this is remarkably easy as it’s really a measure-and-dump effort with your standing mixer doing the leg work. While the crust bakes, you can get started on the butterscotch caramel which essentially means “put this on your stove and let it melt.” Once it is appropriately gooey, pour the contents over the now-baked crust. Sprinkle cashews on top and toss the whole thing back into the oven for 5 minutes: et voila! A beautiful treat that looks store-ready. The saltiness and crunch of the cashews and crust is a perfect balance to the sweetness of the butterscotch. It was so simple I almost felt guilty for accepting compliments when I brought it to work. (Almost.)

The sweet potato bread with cinnamon-rum orange glaze is a welcome addition to my stockpile of go-to quick breads. Can anything beat the smell of a great bread rising in your oven? Murphy’s sweet potato bread is no exception. The generous use of spices gave our entire apartment a heavenly, seasonal perfume that took me back to fall afternoons and cozy sweaters. The bread arrived with enough softness and spring to double as a pillow.

Murphy’s red velvet cake with cream cheese was the only disappointment I encountered. Maybe I set my hopes too high; I’d been obsessed with red velvet since eating it in cupcake form in New York. I tried to replicate it here with Murphy’s recipe but something fell short. The batter, an amazingly rich concoction with cocoa, cinnamon and buttermilk, was good enough to eat on its own with a chilled glass of milk (I say this with confidence since I ate as much batter as I baked). Unfortunately, the batter lost its depth in the baking process and the decadent flavors faded to the background in the final product. The addition of the frosting did not help – its over-the-top sweetness screamed over the cupcakes and overwhelmed the flavors.

Overall I’m pleased to have Sweet Melissa’s Baking Book in my arsenal. She has dozens of other recipes I’m itching to try. An entire section dedicated to baking with fresh fruit which will surely fuel my farmer’s market trips this summer and her final section highlighting favorite treats to share as gifts will certainly be stained and dog-eared by mid-December.

There are some books that attract Foodies for their engaging prose and subject matter - "Kitchen Confidential" and "The Omnivore's Dilemma" are just two of the numerous examples that have emerged in increasingly greater numbers over the past decade.  But there are others whose value lies more in the depth of the information they provide - reference books that become go-to volumes for Foodies who want to learn more about things like how to make salumi (Michael Ruhlman's "Charcuterie: the Craft of Salting, Smoking and Curing") or a broad range of esoteric details (David Kamp's "The Food Snob's Dictionary").

For me, the most valuable resource book I have come across since I started writing about cheese is Jeffrey Roberts' "The Atlas of American Artisan Cheese."  Unlike other volumes that provide introductions to cheese-making or the differences that distinguish the various categories of cheeses, The Atlas serves a very specific function: it provides a catalog of almost 350 artisanal cheesemakers throughout the United States broken down by region.

Jeffrey Roberts took on the daunting task of cataloging these cheesemakers as a way to celebrate and acknowledge their commitment to preserving (and in some cases resurrecting) traditional foodways and methods of production.  Through interviews and surveys, he verified that each cheesemaker he profiled in the Atlas was a licensed dairy producer who worked primarily by hand to craft the cheeses that they make and sell.

Thankfully, Roberts did not simply dump all of this data in his readers' laps.  Instead, he dedicates a page (and in some cases, a little bit more) to a narrative that gives some background information about each producer.  He shares stories about how cheesemakers came into the trade (it's interesting to note just how many emerged from dairies that sought to profit from the surplus milk their herds were producing), who runs the operation, and how they perceive the impact of what they do.  Despite the brevity of these descriptions, they definitely help to put a human face on each farm, elevating this book beyond the ranks of simple reference volumes.

For those who use the book for its reference purpose, Roberts also provides a more cut-and-dried recitation of the cheesemaker's details.  These include the year it was established; the owners and cheesemakers; the address, telephone, email and website (where possible); and the types and varieties of cheeses produced.  Each page also alerts readers to whether or not visitors are permitted and where the establishment's cheeses can be found, though this information is rarely detailed beyond an indication of "limited regional distribution" or "local farmers' markets."  Icons across the top of each entry identify the types of milk used (cow, sheep, goat and water buffalo) as well as whether raw milk is used, if the milk is organic, and if the milk used in cheesemaking comes exclusively from the farmstead where the cheese is produced.  These indicators can be helpful if you're seeking a goat cheese made in Maryland, like the ones from Firefly Farms, for example.

As the entries are arranged alphabetically by state within seven regions, searching for a specific dairy (or a list of the cheesemakers from a given state) is exceptionally easy.  Less easy, unfortunately, is determining exactly where in the state each cheesemaker is located.  Nowhere in the book does Roberts provide the sort of detailed state maps that could be useful to a cheese-lover planning a road trip or hoping to visit farmsteads in his or her nearby area.

On the whole, however, Roberts, has provided those of us who are eager to know more about the artisanal cheesemakers both near and far with an accessible and informative resource.  I have definitely benefitted from having it as I've acquainted myself with the various artisanal producers who sell their cheeses at the farmers' markets in and around Washington.

The Atlas of American Artisan Cheese
Jeffrey P. Roberts
With forewords by Carlo Petrini (Slow Food International) and Allison Hooper (American Cheese Society)
2007, Chelsea Green Publishing Company

Mesclun and other mixed-greens salads.  Goat cheese.  Name-dropping on restaurant menus.

All of these now-commonplace foodie conventions (and an impressive list of others) can be attributed, either directly or indirectly, to the influence of Alice Waters and Chez Panisse, her world-famous restaurant in Berkeley, CA.  So profound is Waters' impact and that of the "California Cuisine" that she helped to popularize that David Kamp devotes an entire chapter to Waters, Chez Panisse and their culinary contributions in "The United States of Arugula," his brilliant foodie history.   

Now, more than thirty-five years after Chez Panisse opened its doors, Alice Waters has released a cookbook to share the secrets of her "Delicious Revolution," as it was dubbed in a 2003 American Masters episode on PBS.  She distills her experiences into nine basic rules that should govern anyone who wants to cook (and eat) well. 

"This book is for everyone who wants to learn to cook, or to become a better cook," says Waters in the introduction to the text.  And on that front, she delivers.  The book begins with nineteen "lessons" that cover the basics of shopping, preparation and cooking.  Some of these lessons cover specific courses like soups, pastas, desserts and, of course, salads.  Others deal with cooking techniques like grilling, simmering, slow-cooking, and frying. 

Each "lesson" chapter begins with a brief paragraph introducing the concept that will be addressed before jumping right into the topic at hand.  Rather than discussing bread making in an academic context, for example, Waters takes only a few paragraphs to talk about factors that impact the taste and quality of breads before walking the reader through a recipe for "Herb Bread or Pizza Dough."  Lessons that deal with techniques are approached in a similar fashion, with an emphasis on learning through doing in the form of recipes.

The second section of the book is a compendium of additional recipes entitled "At the Table."  These recipes are separated into broad categories (sauces, meats, eggs and cheese, etc.) and then presented in straightforward fashion. Not surprisingly, the single largest category is the one for vegetables - Waters provides seventy-two different recipes for everything from fennel and chard to potatoes and tomatoes.

It is the presentation of these recipes (Waters' status notwithstanding) that truly distinguishes "The Art of Simple Food" from similar cookbooks.  Waters eschews the traditional recipe format (a list of ingredients followed by a series of instructions) in favor of a more - go figure - organic approach.  Each recipe is a narrative in and of itself, instructing you to:

"Season:
       4 pork chops, 1/2 inch thick
with
       salt and fresh-ground black pepper
Heat a heavy frying pan over medium-high heat.  Pour in:
       olive oil to coat the pan"

The offset, bold-faced ingredients are still easily noticed, and the as-you-go instructions help to reduce the risk of omitting a key item or skipping a step.  Most recipes are followed by a set of bulleted recommendations on ways to vary the end result without significantly changing the basic technique.

To put the book to the test, I attempted to follow Waters' recipes for Grilled Lamb Loin Chops and Lentil Salad.  The first recipe was quintessentially Waters - it called for nothing more than salt, pepper and oil to season the meat and a total cooking time of 10 minutes - and it allowed the full, rich flavor of the lamb to shine through.  The Lentil Salad was simply dressed with red-wine vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper, and the lentils were combined with shallots and parsley for added taste and texture.  I opted to include two of the recommended variations - chopped cucumber and sweet red pepper - to give the dish some more crunch.  The final product was flavorful, but unlikely to become a staple in our household. 

A word of warning: anyone who reads the title and subtitle ("Notes, Lessons and Recipes from a Delicious Revolution") and expects a memoir or even a few anecdotes is in for a disappointment.  This is a simple cookbook extolling the virtues of simple food, though it is accessible, clearly written and a pleasure to work with in the kitchen.  That should come as no surprise to those who see Alice Waters as one of the people who helped awaken the American palate to the joys of "fresh, local, seasonal ingredients" in the '70s and as a tireless advocate for sustainable agriculture and "edible education" today.

Calling "Think Like a Chef" a cookbook is like calling a Sherlock Holmes novel a detective story.  Tom Colicchio's book goes beyond the basic formula to offer something new, something interesting.  "How a chef thinks about food" is the phrase Colicchio uses in his preface to describe what follows, and "Think Like a Chef" certainly delivers.

In 2000, when the book was first released, Tom Colicchio was the successful chef of Gramercy Tavern who had attracted a loyal following among the Foodies of New York, but he was nowhere near the celebrity he is now.  Craft had not yet opened (that would occur in March of the following year), and Top Chef was still six years away.  Seven years later, "Think Like a Chef" has been re-released, taking full advantage of Colicchio's star power.  The cover art now features him smiling broadly, and it identifies him as "Head Judge of the Hit Series 'Top Chef.'"  But this is no vanity project - you won't find Colicchio name-dropping his way through a list of Gramercy Tavern favorites. 

The book still features the unique approach to cooking that sets it apart from simple recipe collections.  It progresses, organically, from a few basic techniques to a few key ingredients and then on to recipes involving some of Colicchio's favorite ingredients and "trilogies" (three ingredients whose flavors simply work together, according to the chef).  Before it gets started, it even offers advice on "how to use the book," encouraging the audience to read all the way through the book to best grasp what is being discussed and to follow the progression that Colicchio has laid out to truly absorb the process.

"Think Like a Chef" begins, like a good chef should, with technique.  The first section of the book walks the reader through five basic techniques: roasting, braising, blanching, stock-making and sauce-making.  With these five skills in your culinary arsenal, so many seemingly complicated dishes become significantly easier.  Colicchio is a great teacher - he guides you step by step without giving the impression that he is dumbing things down for you.  Along the way, he provides anecdotes and asides that further humanize the text and give insight into the chef's approach to cooking.

Once each technique has been explained and demonstrated with a simple recipe, it is followed by several more complex recipes, each of which uses the technique.  Striped bass, sirloin, and leg of lamb are all roasted with a variety of herbs and seasonings, and the small adjustments that turn a general technique into a specific set of steps for a recipe are highlighted.

From here, Colicchio moves on to "studies" of three basic ingredients - roasted tomatoes, pan-roasted mushrooms and braised artichokes.  As in the previous section, he takes the time to walk you through the basic recipe before elaborating on it and using it as the inspiration for a dizzying variety of recipes.  This, says Colicchio, is the key to thinking like a chef - allowing yourself to be led by the ingredients you find at your disposal in different directions using the techniques at your command.  Just reading through this section, you feel yourself starting to understand what he means...at one point, I realized that I was reading a recipe and mentally adjusting it to better suit my own tastes and a few other ingredients I had picked up at the farmers' market that weekend.

The remaining sections of the book move from the theoretical to the practical - a series of recipes for each of three seasonal trilogies shows the surprising ways the same ingredients can be combined to create diverse flavor profiles, and a section of favorites provides a (very) few of Colicchio's favorite dishes from his own kitchen.

As instructed by the chef, I read through the book from beginning to end before I even thought about attempting any of the recipes inside.  I was pleasantly surprised by the narrative voice and the flow of the book - I didn't feel like I was reading a reference book or some kind of flat, lifeless text.  I really did feel like I was gaining insight into Tom Colicchio's mind and his approach to his craft. 

After reading the book, I was that much more eager to put the chef's lessons into practice.  A visit to  the farmers' market turned up a beautiful selection of wild mushrooms, and I decided then and there that my first attempt at a recipe from the book would be the pan-roasted mushrooms that form the basis of the second "study."  I had already learned from reading through the section that the single most important thing to keep in mind when roasting vegetables and mushrooms is not to crowd the pan - doing so prevents the moisture that cooks out from rapidly evaporating and basically boils your veggies until they are lifeless and rubbery.

So I cooked the mushrooms in three batches (resisting my usual urge to just throw them all in at once) and seasoned them with salt and pepper.  When I turned them, I noted with some satisfaction the way the mushrooms had begun to brown without losing their shape or their texture.  Adding some garlic, butter and herbs I brought each batch to readiness and set it aside until all of the mushrooms were cooked.  At the end I brought all three batches back together and seasoned them once more as I warmed them just prior to serving.  Though I overdid the salt a bit, my wife and I agreed that these were by far the best mushrooms I had ever made, and they were a perfect accompaniment to our oven-roasted pork tenderloin.  I found the directions easy to follow, and the results spoke for themselves.  This was a recipe worth holding onto - as I expect many of the ideas from the book will be.

"Think Like a Chef" invites the reader to develop a new way of looking at what goes into a kitchen - as well as what comes out.  Tom Colicchio has provided an excellent resource for Foodies who are long on appreciation but short on raw talent.  I'm already looking forward to next year's farmers' markets and the creative eye with which I will approach them thanks to this book.