Holiday read - Hungry Monkey

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This whimsical pick during my Amazon shopping has been on of my absolute favorite recent finds, and if you have a kid, are thinking about having a kid, or just appreciate good food, I want you to run out and pick up your own copy. I've already sent one to both my brother & his wife (about to adopt a child), and to my sister-in-law (dating a guy with kids). Now it's time for you to buy one. As a father, there's been little that has brought me more pleasure than sharing the joy & discovery of food with the kids. This morning, the Critter helped me make candied bacon to go with our oatmeal. Last night, the Boy helped me stir peas and our homemade pancetta into our risotto. From the time that they can sit upright and hold onto a spoon, they're pretty much ready to help in one way or another in the kitchen. The author of this book dedicates a whole chapter to, "You fed your child WHAT?". It goes along with what he lays out as Rule #1 - (and I believed, even before I read it here) - 'There is no such thing as baby food'. It can't be too spicy, or too raw, or too seasoned once they're over a year old. (The singular exception, which I will go along with, is honey - not because they won't love it. But it can carry a bacteria that causes infant botchulism.) Generally speaking, if you can eat it, they can eat it. Not only have I always been glad to let our kids try whatever was on my plate as a way of broadening their palate, but I can't imagine the stress of being one of those parents that specially prepares a separate meal for the kid, and packages plain white chicken cubes or ritz crackers everywhere we go, just in case. But most of all, this book rang true for me because I have found the same connection with our kids in the kitchen that the author does. No matter how irritating the small, noisy and often smelly people that live in our house are, and no matter how much pre-bedtime whining or "Holy crap, kid, would you please pick up your bedroom!?" arguing there is, there are two things that the kids & I always agree on. Reading to them at bedtime, and food. It's a whole set of traditions you'll come to love with the kids. When I pull out the meat grinder, the Critter knows it's time to make chorizo. She won't let me buy tortillas if we have time to make it ourselves. And she will always prefer home-made pizzas to the crap you get at Domino's. Don't get me wrong, she's still picky about some things (why on earth would anyone make macaroni and cheese that doesn't come out of a blue box?), and she'll never say no to Taco Bell, but she also chose sushi for her 7th birthday dinner, going right for the fatty tuna and the toro roll. The boy isn't so much a picky eater, he just rarely eats. But we found that just like when he gets to stir the risotto - he's a lot more likely to eat something he helped pick out of the garden, or helped make in the kitchen. When I grew up, I wasn't exactly a picky eater, I just was less-than-adventurous. It wasn't until I moved to California (and specifically, when I started dating the beautiful lady who later agreed to marry me in a moment of weakness) that I really started trying out new foods, and discovered the joy that comes from vegetables that aren't boiled with a piece of salt pork until they're dead (although, I still like them that way too), or the hidden culinary mysteries behind a dim sum brunch. I don't think I could have been any prouder than when my two-year-old asked for, and then ate a half dozen quail eggs for breakfast this week, or when my daughter helped me cure and hang our own hams with the same apparent enjoyment that most kids reserve for their Wii.
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You always wanted to know.. admit it

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As promised, I set up a my kitchen laboratory last night to do an objective and scientific comparison of various corned beef products. Because these are the important questions. In addition to the two I already had (in the round cans, purchased from Chinatown), I stopped by the grocery store and picked up every other variety the shop carried. All of which came in those weirdly shaped tapered cans that only corned beef comes in. At some point, I'm going to have to find out where that shape came about. But that wasn't on the agenda for this evening. I present the contenders:
My guess was that the Palm brand there in the upper left was going to be the best in taste and quality, but was determined to remain objective for this trial. To ensure I did, I enlisted the Critter as my able assistant and supervisor. Since the cans were of different sizes and shapes, we determined that our test would consist of 100g pre-cooked weight of each, measured on our calibrated scale. It is worth mentioning that the prices varied from £1.22 for the basic Princes to something equivalent to about £3.00 a can for the more expensive Palm brand. (That's not counting the shipping charges, since I can't source that locally)
Now, as everyone knows, the only way to eat corned beef properly is stir-fried with onions, served over hot steamed rice, and perhaps with a fried egg on top. But as this was a scientific trial, and not about serving one of the ultimate comfort foods of the Filipino nation, we stuck to plain corned beef, fried in our wok.
We measured each after cooking for an equivalent time to determine the lost fat. Once we accounted for some amount of natural loss through scraping or occasional intra-cooking tasting, most of them measured up to a roughly equivalent 12-14g weight loss during cooking. The notable exception were the Princes brand (of which there were 3 variants in our trial: Princes Finest, Princes Original, and Princes Lean. A note on the cans: Each of the Princes came with a pull ring, but the other two tapered cans had the classic key opening method. You know, the one where you unroll the metal strip and flip open the can. And then you brush up against it while trying to scrap the corned beef out and slice open an artery, bleed out onto your kitchen floor and die to be found a week later , slumped into a heap of uncooked corned beef when the stench of your decaying body prompts your neighbor to call and complain to the local police department. Seriously. These things should be added to the banned list in the Geneva Convention.
With the cans all open side by side on the counter, the difference in texture between the higher and lower cost product was pretty visible. The expensive Palm brand showed visible chunks of meat and fat, pressed into the can. The lowest price stuff showed the consistency of pulped and extruded kibble, except maybe not quite so appealing.
Once cooked, we subjected each to a taste test. My bride, the Critter and I gave it an independent grade and then compared notes. Visually, there 'weren't that many differences amongst the products in the end. Each had a consistent color and cooked thoroughly within the given time.
Sure enough, Palm was the clear winner, but I have to admit that the "extra chunky" new find, Reno, was a pretty good second.
Bottom of the list were the Princes brands. All three judges gave these test samples the lowest available rating - There was no noticeable difference between the different Princes products. All of them tasted like bland, boiled woodshavings with the consistency of something I might scrape off of my shoes. Interestingly, all of the other brands specified that they were the product of one South American country or another (Brazil for the most part, Argentina for Palm). Princes, however, is the product of Liverpool, UK. I work in Liverpool, and I can tell you that there aren't a whole lot of cows on the Merseyside, relatively speaking. I set aside and refrigerated the other cans to cook up for a family meal, but these three went straight to the bin. Consider yourself warned. The lesson here seems to be that if you want to score some good corned beef, get yourself to Chinatown, and look for one of the round cans. It makes a difference.
Suggestions for the next interval of "Gradygroove: Kitchen Science" are welcome.
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