Perhaps the saddest thing I see in our country are supermarkets piled high with frozen proteins destined for the household freezer.

Steaks, chops, seafood, chickens, turkeys, ducks in hermetic plastic packages--all hold a false promise of economy without any loss of quality.  This has become the American way of life: false economy in the name of convenience. Of all the myths in cooking, this one is the most pernicious; and seemingly the most accepted.

Among the most stubborn Myths of Cuisine is the notion that steaks are best cooked in a 1,200-1,500-degree broiler.

Perish the thought, for what will perish is the tenderness and flavor of the steak.

Here's what I consider a better way---the three-step approach...

Ever since the Ryland Inn closed in 2007, people holding gift certificates have been anxious, to say the least, about when, where or even if those certificates would be honored.

So I am pleased to announce that, with my recent arrival as corporate chef of the fine steakhouse Docs of Sparta, all Ryland gift certificates, no matter how old, are fully redeemable for meals at Doc's.

I want to interrupt the countdown of the Myths of Cuisine to respond to those of you who have emailed me chagrined that Ryland Inn gift certificates you bought for friends and family, or vice versa, have nowhere to be redeemed.

MYTH: Pounding tenderizes meat.

MYTH: The best way to prepare garlic for cooking is to slice it razor thin, as Paul Sorvino did in the famous jail dinner scene in Goodfellas.

MYTH: Wrapping fatback around a roast and tying it with string will seal in the juices during cooking.

MYTH: The advantage of a professional restaurant stove is that it can deliver a much hotter flame than a normal kitchen stove.

I'm not talking jellyrolls and babka here, but the thymus glands of veal, pork, or lamb. Next time you hanker for these delicacies--doesn't everyone love sweetbreads?--take it from your hanker chief....

MYTH: Sweetbreads must be poached before roasting.

MYTH: Coffee beans labelled "supremo" are of the highest quality.

MYTH: All Kona coffee is of superior quality.

Click "read the rest of this post" for the REALITY...

Since we're in the home stretch of a long presidential campaign, I thought I'd start a countdown of my own, though a shorter one, with no stump speeches.

Between now and roughly the end of the year, I will unveil 55 myths of cuisine.

Why 55? Well, it's the speed limit, it's alliterative, and it makes a manageable list. Believe me, there are more, but separating fact from fiction in these 55 areas should get us through the holidays in fine fettle

So let's get started with MYTH #55: WEAK COFFEE

A master chef was telling his protege about a revelatory moment in his own training, back in the 1970's, when he was granted an entry-level position with the great Swiss chef Fredy Girardet...

Last week I wrote about my admiration for Julian Schnabel's unique film, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The film released in me a flutter of gastronomic memories. This week, I am going to see how many I can capture, chasing after them in the tall grass of time like a man with an unwieldy butterfly net.

Lately, I have been thinking about memories, rectitude, and gastronomy.

Shall I call it, "Gastronomy in the time of Cholera?" Or, "What moral right do I have to discuss food as art amidst the woes people have suffered in the banking crisis, the  housing crisis, and the international food crisis? 

Jersey peaches will be arriving in markets shortly.

Few desserts are simpler or more satisfying than cobblers or crisp made with fresh seasonal fruit. And when the fruit is local, the satisfaction is that much greater.

This recipe for crab salad on brioche makes any picnic festive. My advice is to assemble the sandwich just before you serve it to prevent the brioche from getting soggy.

Today's recipe--curried duck and mango sandwiches--is easier to make than it may sound.

The secret? You don't have to cook the duck. Make your way to a Chinese market and buy a succulent cooked Peking duck for these sweet-and-spicy sandwiches. (Alternatively, substitute four sautéed duck breast halves.)

Heartfelt thanks to all of you who wrote such supportive replies to my recent posts.

Here's a little giveback from the kitchen of the Ryland Inn. It's the first of four of my favorite recipes, which I'll be posting in coming days.

The other day, I was cooking at an elaborate special event in New Jersey. The adrenaline was pumping. In the frenzy of activity, I felt close to my “old friends”: the energy, the aromas, the heat, the pressure of the kitchen. After scrutinizing and adjusting every dish, I walked out on the floor and was greeted so kindly, so warmly---by quite a few of you---that my heart nearly burst.

"Will the Ryland Inn ever reopen?" People ask me this question all the time, along with two others: "Why is it taking so long?" and "When will it reopen?"

My family and I recently returned from a visit to Newport, R.I. At this time of year the weather alternates between brooding melancholy and wondrous full sun.

With crag and bluff, the rugged isthmus between playful Narragansett Bay and the brooding Atlantic brings to mind the Scottish Highlands. Traipsing up to the lighthouse, you notice the wizened, vine-entangled trees agelessly defying the headwinds. All about you is water.You cannot help but contemplate the stuff.

Water again came to mind during our tour of the Breakers—the 70-room, Italian Renaissance-style palazzo of Cornelius Vanderbilt II. In the magnate’s marble bathroom, I marveled at his 3,000-pound, hand-carved marble bathtub with its four polished nickel taps for hot and cold running salt water as well as fresh water.

It reminded me of a calamitous Mother’s Day incident at the Ryland Inn, involving conspicuous consumption of expensive water.

Today almost no world-class chef disputes the superiority of low-temperature protein cookery. In spite of their credentials, they were almost entirely ignored by the rest of the population.
 
In this post, I’ll tell you why.

The trouble started more than a century ago with the absolutely false notion that “searing meat locks in the juices.” 

In restaurant and home kitchens to this day one hears, “If a little searing locks in juices, then a lot of searing will lock in even more!” Or, “If an 800°F broiler sears the outside of the steak decently, a 1,600°F broiler will sear it that much better.”

But anyone who has grilled a steak might well ask, “If searing locks in juices, how come the seared meat weeps juice all over the plate, while the raw meat barely weeps at all?”

For 25 years, I have heard words to that effect from many parents. My answer usually goes like this:

“Being a chef can be an exceptionally rewarding career, especially at the high end. It is still possible for someone to reach the top at a relatively young age, though it is becoming more and more difficult.”

The next questions usually are, "Cooking school or college?"

"Can a great palate be acquired? Or do you have to be born with it?"

And, "How long does it take to achieve mastery as a chef?"

The answers are complicated, and people are often surprised by what I tell them.

Let's take the questions one at a time.

Hello, Class. I hope my last post didn't make you feel you were back in Chem 101. Today I promise to be a teeny bit less technical. But I am still going to rant, this time about marinades and frozen fowl.

Perhaps the most discussed “innovation” of the last few years is the technique of brining a turkey before roasting. Adherents claim that submerging the whole bird in heavily salted water overnight produces moister and more tender meat on the plate.

Does it work?

Yes, to some degree.

Unfortunately, it has drawbacks as well. I am inclined to believe that the results people are getting have more to do with lower roasting temperatures in the new brining recipes and less to do with the brining itself.

Every hip menu today seems to have a section devoted to “small plates.” Some restaurants are even replacing the traditional three-course menu with a variety of appetizer-size dishes that can be ordered in any sequence or even all at once. But as any devotee of tapas or dim-sum knows, there is nothing new about small plates.

The streets of New Haven being less charming than the bucolic beach roads of New Hampshire and Maine to a cyclist with now other aspirations, the green bike was eventually, after having served dutifully many thousand miles, stored away.

I was driving on 287 the other day when I spied a green mountain bike strapped to the back of a car. It filled me with a warming wave of nostalgia. It was the particular shade of green—celeste green—that brought the memories flooding back.

I'm not the type to dance with a lampshade over my head, but I have my own form of over-the-top end-of-holidays merry-making. I get a sudden craving for English romantic poetry. But being a chef I have to substitute my own ingredients while keeping the form. So here is "Ode on a Greasy Spoon," with deepest apologies to John Keats (whose original, "Ode on a Grecian Urn," follows immediately after).

Welcome to “Breaking Eggs,” a web log about food, wine, and gastronomy from the viewpoint of a veteran chef. That would be me.