Some paragraphs being searched that include "boiled into submission":
Raw vegetables are dangerous and must be thoroughly fried, steamed, and boiled into submission. So thought our anscestors. The original sin of a recalcitrant vegetables was of course lessened by heat, but the conscientious 19th century cook continued to boil it long after it had sagged into a jelly-like mass, just in case some evil remained...
THE NEW BEET GENERATION
Rescued from the ignominy of school dinners and pub salads, beetroot has finally found favour among fashionable foodies. Michael Bateman celebrates
THE WORLD CUP hero Michael Owen has not been this summer's only infant prodigy: this has been a year in which the baby beetroot has emerged as a star on top tables.
Gone are the days when beetroot was gathered late in the autumn, harvested only upon reaching the size of a tennis ball or larger, and then boiled into submission and tortured in malt vinegar (or worse, "non-brewed condiment", as used in fish and chip shops). The results would burn the lining off the roof of your mouth.
The summer beetroot, however, little bigger than a golf ball, has made a glorious 1998 debut. Raymond Blanc, who grows no fewer than five varieties in his ample kitchen garden at La Manoir aux Quat' Saisons near Oxford, has placed them firmly on his complex and ambitious new menu. He offers them as an appetiser in their own right - a few sweet, purple discs, bathed in a sparse dressing of olive oil.
Steffanie’s Café still ‘tray’ bien (Published:Apr 16, 2009)
The words ‘shopping centre’ and ‘mall’ are so outré, didn’t you know?
AN UNACCOUNTABLY cheerful Bandit steps through the revolving door only to be assailed by the smell of cheap, chemical-sodden bacon being boiled into submission by the recalcitrant staff of the word-farm canteen.
Only the thought of British comedian Eddie Izzard’s fall- down-funny sketch, Death Star Canteen, in which Lord Darth Vader pops down to the canteen for a bite to eat, provides brief comic respite from the stench.
Asparagus and Other Metaphors
I had asparagus for breakfast this morning. I didn’t plan to have asparagus for breakfast. It was supposed to be part of dinner last night, but I forgot to cook it, and this morning there it was. I rinsed it and cooked it. That and a handful of almonds, and I was set for the day. It’s a miracle that I like asparagus. My mother used to boil asparagus until it was practically gray. The result was slimy, mucilaginous spears that came apart when disturbed by a fork, except for the woody ends. My reaction as a child was: yuck. I only ate it for the mayonnaise.
After I left home I learned that you could cook asparagus lightly, and have tasty, crisp spears with a little field crunch left in them. You could pick one up in your fingers and eat it without mayo or anything else. Mmm…yummy.
I also learned that in preparing asparagus, you were supposed to pick up a raw spear by the ends and bend it until it broke, and throw away the segment of the spear below the break and cook the segment above the break. That lower piece was the woody part of the spear. It is called woody because trying to eat it is like trying to eat a stick of wood.
When I finally got around to asking my mother why she boiled asparagus for so long, she said, “To get the whole spear soft.” She did not break or trim asparagus; she rinsed it off and cooked it whole, and she cooked the edible part to paste in an effort to get the woody part soft enough to eat.
I understand this. Asparagus is not cheap. Everything in the heart, soul, and mind of a depression kid would rebel at the thought of spending so much money on a vegetable, then throwing away half of what you bought.
Of course there was a generational taste preference involved, also. There seemed to be a cultural belief in the 50s that vegetables were meant to be boiled into submission. The first time my husband and I served my mother stir-fried vegetables she took a bite and exclaimed, “They’re raw!” Rick and I looked at each other and said, “Uh-oh.”
We have come again into hard times. Hard times are relative, of course. An American hard time would be considered pretty deluxe by many of our fellow earthlings, who live in a poverty that we cannot imagine.
But that is not my point. My point is that when times get tough we indulge in economies, and some economies are false economies, such as boiling the whole asparagus spear until it is no longer good to eat in any part, assuming you can afford asparagus in the first place.
So my sermon for today is this: seize the day and don’t boil the asparagus too long. If you don’t have as much as you did, enjoy what you have. That’s all.
Impression of Paris
..... If you are not guided by the local food-critics expertise however, you may find yourself eating in places that do not live up to the reputation of the fine Parisian cuisine. I remember wandering into a pizza restaurant off the Champs Elysee (the one street in Paris which is really ‘touristy’) and having the worst meal of its type ever. Spaghetti that had been boiled into submission till, limp and waterlogged, it had set into a glue-like paste in which each strand was past separation. You are right if you have guessed that every person eating there was a foreign tourist......
..... Having survived that much, he and his long-suffering wife Wanda, now in their 60s, undertook a winter bicycle tour of the Emerald Isle, a journey recorded with appropriate doses of blarney in Round Ireland in Low Gear (1987). Newby had promised to see Northern Ireland “if we could do so without getting our nuts blown off,” no easy thing in the violent 1980s, but the terrors of the Republic were enough: skinny, rutted, dark roads festooned with oncoming trucks, torrential cold rain, indifferent drivers who “didn’t even see us despite the fact that our machines and ourselves were bristling with almost every procurable electric and fluorescent retro-reflective safety aid,” and all the others dangers of the road. And always another heart-troubling terror: Irish cooking, back in the days when anything that could be cooked was boiled into submission before finding its way onto a plate.......
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