With Apologies to Terry Gross

I'm not here to start some skirmish over which public radio station passes muster, especially since I'm particularly fond of WNYC's Soterios Johnson and his dulcet tones (it's pledge time, and it just breaks my heart to hear him beg). Even though it's a tad outside my geographic comfort zone, I rely on KCRW for all things popular. Underdog Wisconsin Public Radio also produces the notable program "To the Best of Our Knowledge".

All things considered, Chicago Public Radio is pretty great--it sponsored perhaps the best show ever, the intellectual collision course that was WBEZ's Odyssey hosted by the resourceful and enlightened Gretchen Helfrich. What a pleasure it was to hear her seamlessly pivot from Walter Benn Michaels to the legacy of Andrea Dworkin (swoon!). Nationally, WBEZ is known for blockbusters This American Life and Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, but it has some other shows we could call "indigenous" to Chicago (848, Worldview, and Re:Sound) that I've missed since coming to New York.

The good news-WBEZ now has podcasts available, and it was like Christmas this morning when I found them.

A Familiar Face

"If you look at these chairs, they are mainly made of air, like sculpture. Space passes right through them."--Harry Bertoia



These wonky chairs take me back to sitting outside of Grinnell College’s “Forum”--a modern architectural blunder which functioned as the campus café. Students would try to pick up these chairs, too wide for the door and bafflingly bottom heavy, to take them outside to read or eat.

Spindly and surprisingly comfortable, these iconic chairs originated in the Midwest via San Lorenzo, Italy. Harry Bertoia (1915-1978) immigrated to Michigan from Italy, where he attended Cranbrook Academy of Art, befriending Chicago design icon Charles Eames and furniture visionary Florence Knoll. Trained in jewelry construction and design, he actually cobbled together the ideas for the Eames’ wedding rings.

Bertoia followed Eames (and his wife, Ray) to California in 1943 to work in their studio where they molded plywood to make spectacular and seemingly impossible furniture. WWII rationing made precious metals hard to come by, so Bertoia transitioned from jewelry-making to helping Eames fashion parts for airplanes—Eames was Director of Research and Development for Evans Products Co. at the time.

After departing from the Eames’ studio in 1946, he shifted from wood back to metal, working with Florence Knoll on furniture design at her factory in Pennsylvania. Bertoia began to bend and stretch metal, using a sculptural approach for functional objects. The diamond chair uses meshed metal to form the back support, which then eases into an armrest shape. Unlike the wooden Eames chairs of the period (slim but still opaque wood) the ‘Diamond’ has a different space-sensibility, there and not there, both a dimension and a silhouette.

The creation of the “Diamond Chair” in 1952 raised so much revenue in royalties, Bertoia left furniture for sculpture, shifting the focus of his work from tactile to sonic—he created a series of "sound sculptures," or sculptures that would react to wind movement, including the sculpture in front of the Standard Oil building in Chicago where my Dad worked when I was a kid.


Source: Entobox


Curious, Grinnellians, as to how much these cost? A mere $2,100 each.

Appeals to my inner Débutante

I dig the translation of haute consumption using disposable production values.



Artist: Ed Vince

Cheese Worship

This is a Parmesan cheese holder, designed by sensuous Italian powerhouse Alessi. It costs $78, and it's made of pale gold and crystal, bestowing upon the jewel of Parma the sort of adulation it demands.

I think it's both an interesting object and a fascinating symbol. What would provoke the design of such a highbrow, deity-protecting item? Is Reggiano that special? Does the print on the rind intentionally resemble a luxury logo? Why does set you back $15 dollars a pound? These are signs of the cheese's cult of personality, its branded identity, its generated myth.

Reggiano is special--it's bespoke, boutique, in high demand. After the semi-hard cheese is inscribed with the signature stamp, aged 12 months, it is inspected by the Consorzio Parmigiano Reggiano (the sort of fromagie-equivalent of an MC) then exported and peddled. But Parmesan, as much as it might like to, does not hold the patent on the grana (or grainy) nutty cheese flavor.

All of the authenticity "hype" would lead you to believe there is no other cheese in this market, that cheap imitators of Parmigiano are akin to off-brand Coke.

Not so! Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you: grana padano.


Grana padano's tradition reaches back even further than Reggiano--'twas made by Cistercian monks in 1135 AD around the marshes of the Po river. Contrary to American belief, it is actually the most-produced cheese in Italy, with factories in Emilia-Romagna, Lombardy, Piedmont, Trentino, and Veneto (as opposed to just the tiny region of Parma ). Additionally, it's more affordable than it's plus chic cousin, and has almost the exact same crystallized texture and salty flavor. Of course, it is still protected by the Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita (DOCG) which inspects and regulates Italian identity-related food items like, ie Basalmic vineagar, olive oil, and Chianti, so it's still special, but not the high-ticket item that is Reggiano.

Henry Hoffman watches Caseificio Europa make Grana Padano

Getting to Know my Neighborhood

My new favorite site, and it's evaluation of where I ate last night.

A useful tool for the hypochondriac.

Monday Linkitude

Disease risk to mozzarella output! Oh NO! Serious Eats paints an even graver picture. (Don't water buffaloes look like the bad guys from The Fifth Element?)

A touch of Italian modernity to anchor one in place.

Slice, the Pizza blog, has posted a thorough and mostly unobjectionable Taxonomy of Regional Pizza styles.

What Is Italian Roast, and Why is it so Oily?

Ever been transfixed at the market by open containers of gleaming coffee beans? Reflecting light like something measured in carats not ounces, Italian roast coffee shines dark among all the other types of bean. But what is Italian roast? And why does it emit such lustre?

A young Mozzadrella wondered if the Italian roast was named so because of its greasy texture…was “Italian Roast” a plainclothes ethnic slur?

Well, coffee grows closer to the equator than Italy—the name has nothing to do with the source of the beans, but how long they are roasted for (12-13 minutes between 370 and 540 degrees). At times these beans are referred to as “espresso beans,” although really the fine grind of the bean defines “espresso,” not the bean’s color (I am told both light and dark beans do just fine in the large steaming machine).

Italian roast is the penultimate stage in the roasting spectrum, beat to the punch by the French, which, I suppose, invalidates the ethnic slur theory:


(The Italian roast is second from right)

As it turns out, the roasting process itself brings these oils to the surface of the bean. The gloss is sometimes called cafeoil, though my findings to support this are paltry. I’m told that the oils impart much of the coffee’s flavor and “body” (I sort of hate the subjective concept of body to describe a liquid’s heft. It’s confusing and synesthesic, but alas).

However, greasy glossy coffee in your market is bad bad bad (however, I love Sahadi’s so I will continue to grace them with my revenue). When exposed to oxygen, the oil from the coffee bean causes it to self-destruct, so open vats of dazzling coffee translate to wilting flavor in your cup. Buy your coffee vacuum packed, or at a place that roasts on site, for the least amount of damaging grease.

“Cultural change occurs when a new meme is introduced and catches on.”

Mozzarella is more than a state of mind.



She is the leader of the Moofia.



Source of image: http://www.pixie.com.tw/blog/?p=146
(Apologies to Michael Pollan.)

Why Do Italians Drink Wine In Stumpy Cups??

Few things are more woptastic than Chianti nestled in its wovenbasket shell, served aside squat juice glasses. This “rural” approach to wine consumption circumvents common drinking hazards—glass breakage—while at the same time leaves your hands free to gesture. A superb evolution for certain, but stemless glassware must exist for reasons other than saving the accident-prone from embarrassment. Why do “authentically” branded Italian restaurants forgo traditional stemware in favor of the thickset alternative, the tumbler? And, never having seen proper stemware in my house, why do Italians drink wine in stumpy cups?

The selection appears counterintuitive if you believe what the wine experts tell us: stems exist for the greater wine good. Handling a wine glass by the stem regulates its temperature, heat transferred from your hand will corrupt the taste. Stems prevent unsightly smudges on the glass, allowing a clear view of the wine’s color and opacity. Those with more disposable income contend that the shape of the glass alters the experience—Amy Cortese drinks the boozy Kool-Aid at the Reidel Institute.

Do Italians wittingly betray the wine? Stemless glassware sure does require less storage space, easily fits into the dishwasher, and, of course, breaks less.

Perhaps the result “stems” from the Roman urge to conquer and pillage: Glass artisans traveled with legionnaires to the ends of the Roman empire between the 1st and 4th centuries AD, bringing the trade of the Roman glass tradition with them. These smiths would remain in the Roman states or share their knowledge with the locals who clamored for training, creating a network of provincial glass artisans.

So the rustic glass artisan, out of utility or working with recycled materials, may have stuck with a more basic glass, as the delicate connection between the bowl and the foot of the glass is vulnerable and requires more material. So tumblers won out in the economy game there, as provinces were a far cry from the spiffy Venetian action closer to the center of the Empire.

Source Info: Stern, Marianne E. Roman Glassblowing in a Cultural Context American Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 103, No. 3. (Jul., 1999), pp. 441-484.


Photo Credit: “Yarrg” by Ingorrr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/ingorrr/1195324831/

What's Up, Sis?

Pleasant greetings from the Giant Land Crab.



The invertebrate exhibit at the National Zoo is pretty damn cool.