Two imports, Britain’s Two Fat Ladies and Japan’s Iron Chef, are also in the entertainment category. The first presents two indeed buxom women (one of whom, alas, died last year) traveling by motorcycle and sidecar to cook for groups ranging from Boy Scouts to barristers—cooking, it seems to me, just about everything edible with lard and/or butter. (A Saturday Night Live takeoff had them buttering lettuce leaves.) My favorite moments involve the late Jennifer Paterson, she of the lipstick and lacquered nails, noting, as she doused some scallops with vermouth, “I like [to use it] because I’m not tempted to drink it,” and “If you don’t want [fillet of beef] rare, don’t cook it at all.” And Clarissa Dickson Wright, she of the au naturel appearance, won me over by confiding that, among other reasons, she “gave up the law books for the recipe books” when, to a judge who asked what sardines are, a lawyer explained, “M’lord, they’re a small fish cooked in oil and favored by the lower classes.” How right Clarissa’s decision!
As for Iron Chef, it’s a hyperactive World Wrestling–gladiatorial sort of affair in a stadiumlike setting with two huge kitchens side by side. The reputed Iron Chef and a contender compete against the clock for the number of dishes they can concoct using a specific main ingredient. A passionately involved, ruffle-shirted emcee with handheld mike provides a chop-by-chop, sizzle-by-sauté, play-by-play report: “Iron Chef is marinating!…The challenger is adding hot bean sauce!!” There’s a distinguished audience looking on (a “famous geisha,” elegantly dressed and impassive, is given a close-up at one point), as well as a jury of four—an actress, a pop singer, a psychic, and a politician, during my viewings—commenting at times and finally tasting and judging. At “A Spanish Mackerel Battle,” for example—when the emcee notes it involves “$300 fish!”—the actress says, “I tend to fry it,” and the singer ripostes, “I love fish, too.” We know this via English dubbing and occasional subtitles that give this frenzied show the loony flavor of Woody Allen’s 1966 What’s Up, Tiger Lily?, a Japanese Bond-like adventure flick dubbed into a hilarious quest for a priceless egg-salad recipe. Empathy? My heart went out to a loser who couldn’t pry the lid off a jar of caviar as the time ran out. Memorable line? The emcee’s declaration, “Like Forrest Gump’s mother said, you’re not going to know what you get from Iron Chef,” as lobster was soaked in Dom Pérignon.
Public broadcasting programs, however, do wind up being more on the “educational” side. Surfing—and stopping—I found myself the wiser in some respects. Marcia Adams, via her More Cooking from Quilt Country, in which she makes American dishes “easy enough for the cooking-impaired,” taught me to transport crust dough unbroken and unstretched from board to pie plate by furling it on the rolling pin and unfurling it over the plate. Joanne Weir, of Weir Cooking in the Wine Country, whose girlish manner belies her status as chef and teacher, charmed me by confiding that it took her “years” to achieve that slicing superspeed that separates the pros from us laymen. To “catch the seeds,” she filters lemon juice through her fingers, whereas Ming Tsai, the Asian-American charmer of East Meets West, uses his fingers to separate eggs, yolks in palm, whites dripping down. That’s what I call hands-on cooking.
Even though crêpes Suzette haven’t yet appeared on my home menu, Julia Child taught me—and Jacques Pépin (she stopped him in midstream)—not to pour the alcohol for flambé into the pan from the bottle lest leaping flames encase it and one’s hand. Ladle it in. And though I’m no outdoor cooksman, George Hirsch, the supper-griller whose mantra (and show title) is Know Your Fire, has given me firm, frequent, and vicariously delicious support in my contention that garlic, caramelized or not, can be used in practically everything from soup to nutty desserts. He’s amateur-cook friendly, urging us to “make it nice and easy on yourself,” as he resorts to canned artichoke hearts, and reminds us, “Cooking isn’t a science. Baking is.” Things are a bit more highbrow with chef-restauratrice Caprial Pence, whose Cooking with Caprial concentrates on “American bistro cuisine.” Her definition thereof is broad, her offerings varied. She’s generous, even sharing the recipe for the scones with hazelnuts and smoked salmon that she brought to Julia Child’s 80th birthday celebration, and her manner is forthright:“Lamb is my favorite meat. You love it—or you don’t.”
The Cooking Secrets of the CIA are those of The Culinary Institute of America, whose program presents chef-hatted, note-taking, and sometimes participating students getting lecture-demonstrations from the master faculty. Good stuff, even beyond baking a chicken encased in five pounds of coarse salt. One “secret” was not only the making of hazelnut biscotti but also the eating of those crisp twice-baked cookies (after dunking, of course, in coffee). The timing of the latter, need I note, is essential to keep the nuts from dropping into the cup. In contrast to the CIA setup, Lidia’s Italian Table provides the assurance from Lidia Matticchio Bastianich that “you’re with me in my house.” Her thesis, in contrast to the multi-ingredient, 10-condiment, and “bam!” approaches of other shows, is simple: “Less is more. Use two or three ingredients and let them shine.”
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