Just some perspective for all o’ y’all who are crowing about the safety of raw meat and raw eggs: Two hundred years ago, raw meat and raw eggs was pretty safe. This, of course, was before meat production was industrialized, before cows were hip-to-hip in a feedlot, guzzling corn slurry and antibiotics while standing knee deep in their own filth. Ditto eggs from chickens crammed five to a cage, instead of freely scratching and pecking their way through open grassland. Fifty years ago, eating these products raw was suicidal. Then we figured that out, and things have gotten comparatively better. But as long as we insist on cheap industrialized food, aggressive regulation will be required to keep it safe.
[QUOTE=Lemur866]
The only thing I’ve seen that’s made my jaw drop is the instant potatoes.
Folks, instant potatoes are crap.
[/QUOTE]
I was in Italy this past November. Central Tuscany, to be specific. Small village, to be even more specific, staying with my girlfriend’s family in their thousand-year-old house.
The food in Tuscany is heartstoppingly good. The first night I was there, my first bite of true lasagna was literally lifechanging.
And that, as it turned out, was just an average meal.
A couple of days later, the small village was having a huge feast, inviting maybe a quarter of the locals. I was invited, and I begged for time in the kitchen. I learned how to make pasta from scratch, the old way. I watched as porcinis freshly picked from the surrounding woods were slowly simmered into a soupy consistency in their own liquids. I saw how wild boar was slow cooked with herbs and cognac.
Everything was made by hand on the spot. The vegetables were picked from the gardens everybody had in front of their houses. It was all late-fall and winter harvest; they didn’t bother with imported or greenhouse versions of summer crops. The olive oil was pressed in their own orchards. The eggs were collected from the village chicken coop. The boar had been shot a few days before by one of the villagers. Even the grappa was handmade, a couple of miles away.
These were people who knew how to eat. Just because they were from a tiny village with thousand-year-old cobblestone streets, that didn’t mean they lacked discriminating palates; it was some of the best food I’ve had in my life. Everything was local and fresh, and they did that not because it was cheap or easy, they did it because that’s how it tasted best.
Except the potatoes.
The potatoes were freeze-dried, out of a box.
Because that’s how they liked them.
I have no explanation for this. I mean, I was making them American-style drippings gravy (which they’d never had, and wanted to try), and I said, hey, as long as I’m doing this, I’d be happy to make mashed potatoes from scratch (which, I must say, are damn good, light and fluffy).
They declined.
At the table, the instant potatoes were fine, and the Tuscans seemed to enjoy them. They especially liked them with the gravy I made.
Nevertheless, I am still mystified.