"Modernist Cuisine" is the name of an expensive four-volume set of cookbooks as well as a new cooking movement.
Tips for getting started
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- This is the story of how we acquired a copy of a set of $625 cookbooks for $700, and why you should care enough to know what's in it for you and get your hands on a set if you can.
The good news is you can now get it for $473.12.
Along with it comes the opportunity to understand and to enjoy everyday food at home in a way you never thought possible.
When I first heard the buzz about "Modernist Cuisine" issuing out of the media, I had the impression of a techie cookbook with recipes that I don't have the gadgets -- or the bandwidth -- to make work in my life. Lots of science, lots of physics -- and lots and lots of work.
Under my breath, I muttered words like "fetishistic," "stressful," "dandified."
Now touted among food writers as "historic," the six-volume reference work consists of 2,438 pages of instruction on precision cooking. It has 1,600 recipes with 3,500 photographs and illustrations that have been recognized as some of the world's best. Twelve full-time staff were employed; they lost count of the freelancers.
About the time four research cooks and Nathan Myhrvold, the billionaire behind it, and his two co-authors Maxime Bilet and Chris Young had their aprons on in a 1,500-square-foot test kitchen, I was turning 40.
One of my birthday presents was a big cookbook by Heston Blumenthal called "The Fat Duck Cookbook."
The Fat Duck, an elite modernist restaurant in England, is to foodies what the Vatican is to Catholics.
Now 37 percent of my presents benefit the benefactor in some way, and this was one gift I put away fast.
Well, it turns out that the gift giver, a foodie who doesn't cook, was inching me on to a new project.
I'm married to someone who has a lot of good ideas. One of them was a new hobby he had in mind.
For me.
The problem -- I came to understand in the fullness of time -- is that fine dining is the way he likes to eat.
At home.
Every day.
The country cookin' problem
The year of "The Fat Duck Cookbook" problem, there was a barbecue at the Governor's Mansion, and I was complaining to a table full of ladies about the costs of kitchens, my so-called kitchen and the amount of time I spend in it, cooking.
I never forgot what one experienced matron said, with a dismissive wave of her hand: "Get over it. You are going to be spending a lot of time in there, so better get a good one" -- at this point she looked directly at my husband -- "and better learn to like it." At which point she looked directly at me.
The way I think about food -- having spent most of my life trying to avoid eating it -- has sullenly, not suddenly, changed.
I had not just fallen off the turnip truck when I met my husband, but I will say that he has taken me to some eye-popping restaurants. He never blinked at the bill or seized control of what I ordered to control the bill. Women notice things like that.
But eventually overcooked eggs became a problem in the marriage.
Actually, overcooking everything became a problem.
Tips for getting started
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- This is the story of how we acquired a copy of a set of $625 cookbooks for $700, and why you should care enough to know what's in it for you and get your hands on a set if you can.
The good news is you can now get it for $473.12.
Along with it comes the opportunity to understand and to enjoy everyday food at home in a way you never thought possible.
When I first heard the buzz about "Modernist Cuisine" issuing out of the media, I had the impression of a techie cookbook with recipes that I don't have the gadgets -- or the bandwidth -- to make work in my life. Lots of science, lots of physics -- and lots and lots of work.
Under my breath, I muttered words like "fetishistic," "stressful," "dandified."
Now touted among food writers as "historic," the six-volume reference work consists of 2,438 pages of instruction on precision cooking. It has 1,600 recipes with 3,500 photographs and illustrations that have been recognized as some of the world's best. Twelve full-time staff were employed; they lost count of the freelancers.
About the time four research cooks and Nathan Myhrvold, the billionaire behind it, and his two co-authors Maxime Bilet and Chris Young had their aprons on in a 1,500-square-foot test kitchen, I was turning 40.
One of my birthday presents was a big cookbook by Heston Blumenthal called "The Fat Duck Cookbook."
The Fat Duck, an elite modernist restaurant in England, is to foodies what the Vatican is to Catholics.
Now 37 percent of my presents benefit the benefactor in some way, and this was one gift I put away fast.
Well, it turns out that the gift giver, a foodie who doesn't cook, was inching me on to a new project.
I'm married to someone who has a lot of good ideas. One of them was a new hobby he had in mind.
For me.
The problem -- I came to understand in the fullness of time -- is that fine dining is the way he likes to eat.
At home.
Every day.
The country cookin' problem
The year of "The Fat Duck Cookbook" problem, there was a barbecue at the Governor's Mansion, and I was complaining to a table full of ladies about the costs of kitchens, my so-called kitchen and the amount of time I spend in it, cooking.
I never forgot what one experienced matron said, with a dismissive wave of her hand: "Get over it. You are going to be spending a lot of time in there, so better get a good one" -- at this point she looked directly at my husband -- "and better learn to like it." At which point she looked directly at me.
The way I think about food -- having spent most of my life trying to avoid eating it -- has sullenly, not suddenly, changed.
I had not just fallen off the turnip truck when I met my husband, but I will say that he has taken me to some eye-popping restaurants. He never blinked at the bill or seized control of what I ordered to control the bill. Women notice things like that.
But eventually overcooked eggs became a problem in the marriage.
Actually, overcooking everything became a problem.
I'm not able to "lightly scramble" eggs because I'm "too country," and that it's not "rational" to be afraid to lightly scramble eggs.
All overcookers raise your hand! Isn't it better to be safe than sorry?
By this time, "Modernist Cuisine" was available but hard to find.
Anyway, the least I could do is give it all a big whack and try to stop overcooking.
Why be dismissive of learning something new?
So in the interest of being a good sport, I agree to read "Modernist Cuisine." Among its core premises: If you wash your hands well and keep your counters clean, you will not die if you don't overcook your food in most circumstances.
I accept it as a 37 percent semianniversary present, and promise to try to incorporate some of its ideas into our lives. My husband is so grateful when I really put on a food performance, what's the harm in adding new skills?
But I don't promise a miracle.
Meet Mr. Jetson
Nathan Myhrvold is the creator of Modernist Cuisine, and he is not a personal god to me, but he is to some people. He is the master of a certain elite universe of technology-oriented people who congregate in the Seattle area.
A lot has been written about the fact that he was a top Microsoft executive working personally with Bill Gates, and as a billionaire, he does as he pleases.
It's probably more important that his mother gave him a wide berth when he announced that he was going to prepare Thanksgiving dinner flambé-style the year he was 9, as being in possession of your own mind is more important than being rich if you are going to do anything interesting.
He has multiple advanced degrees and studied physics with Stephen Hawking at Cambridge.
He is at the helm of some swift and hard dealing in that rarefied and futuristic world that technology gives rise to. Technology and its tools are an integral part of Modernist Cuisine.
But the side of him that is the lover of food for food's sake led him to the highly unglamorous work of food prep one day a week in a Seattle restaurant just to get the experience required to get accepted at the elite professional chef school École de la Varenne in France, from which he graduated.
His remarks make it clear that his interest in producing Modernist Cuisine is not to enthrone himself as an international food celebrity, but rather to make a contribution to the field so more people can understand and enjoy food in new ways.
"When it's really great, cuisine can be thought-provoking," he told a food blogger at a book-launch reception in Seattle.
He spent a lot of time on a recent blog post at modernistcuisine.com explaining how an Asian course he enjoyed in Spain consisting of wasabi, ice and soy eaten with tweezers was a kind of social commentary.
He then spent time comparing the food he enjoys to the gradations of excellence found in architecture, opera and art -- a captivating blog post that prepared me for the books on a level I could relate to.
One of his core values was a refusal to dumb anything down in the books.
Myhrvold lives a chef-free life. He cooks his own food at home.
He is particularly committed to helping people learn not to overcook food.
Read how writer and Milton resident Tracy Herz's first attempt at sous vide cooking turned out Monday at www.wvgazette.com.
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