Pepsi Natural

Kottke reports that there's a "Pepsi Natural" on the way to market -- featuring cane sugar in lieu of corn syrup, and served in that most magnificent of beverage transportation devices, a solid glass bottle.

Needless to say, I approve of both of these retro-novations. In fact, I make semi-regular trips to my local Mexican wholesaler to pick up soda served this way. But I'm strictly a Coca-Cola man. Let's hope Coke follows Pepsi's lead, and soon.

This is the part of the post where I quote Andy Warhol:

What's great about this country is America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca-Cola, and you can know that the President drinks Coke, Liz Taylor drinks Coke, and just think, you can drink Coke, too. A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good.

Let's make sugar cheap, corn expensive, and bring back those Cokes!

Overfished Derivative Waters

Jonah Lehrer on the failure of financial markets and the Grand Banks fisheries:

In the 1970's, the government instituted strict regulations that limited the total catch to just 16 percent of the total cod population. The tricky part, of course, was coming up with the population estimates in the first place. It's hard to know how many fish to catch if you don't know how many fish there are. But fishery scientists were confident that their sophisticated models were accurate. They had randomly selected areas of the ocean to sample and then, through the use of a complicated algorithm, arrived at their total estimate of the cod population. They predicted that the new regulations would allow the cod stock to steadily increase. Fish and the fishing industry would both thrive.

The models were all wrong. The cod population never grew. By the late 1980's, even the trawlers couldn't find cod. It was now clear that the scientists had made some grievous errors. The fishermen hadn't been catching 16 percent of the cod population; they had been catching 60 percent of the cod population. The models were off by a factor of four. "For the cod fishery," write Orrin Pilkey and Linda Pilkey-Jarvis, in their excellent book Useless Arithmetic: Why Environmental Scientists Can't Predict the Future, "as for most of earth's surface systems, whether biological or geological, the complex interaction of huge numbers of parameters make mathematical modeling on a scale of predictive accuracy that would be useful to fishers a virtual impossibility."

People love models, especially when they're big, complex and quantitative. Models make us feel safe. They take the uncertainty of the future and break it down into neat, bite-sized equations. But here's the problem with models, which is really a problem with the human mind. We become so focused on the predictions of the model - be it the cod population, or the risk of mortgage derivatives - that we stop questioning the basic assumptions of the model. (Instead, the confirmation bias seeps in and we devote way too much mental energy to proving the model true.) It's not just about black swans or random outliers. After all, there was no black swan event that triggered this most recent financial mess. There was simply an exquisite model, churning out extremely profitable predictions, that happened to be based on a false premise. Hopefully, the markets will recover quicker than the Atlantic cod.

Racist Barbecue

Even a diehard barbecue fan has to admit that something is up: "This most American of foods is precisely so American because Europeans adopted the cooking technology from the Indians they exterminated while giving the job of chef to the slaves they brought from Africa."

Pro Patria (Hot Dogs and Fields of Grain)

Stars and Stripes Forever, Muppet-style:

Via LPS, who in addition to her brilliant title "the only acceptable expression of american nationalism", also notes "i think my favorite part is when sam eagle states one of the core american values to be keeping the world safe from weirdos!"

I'll add that this is made doubly awesome when he's interrupted by Animal and a terrific background shot of hot dogs getting covered by mustard.

Happy Anniversary to all American Weirdos (and Weirdo-Americans) everywhere.

Old Money Still Good Money (But Worth Less Money)

Collobrières, a village in Provence (southeast Mediterranean France), has authorized the use of the French franc en lieu du Euro for everyday purchases. The idea came from the town baker, Nathalie Lepeltier. According to Lepeltier, "The euro has made life more expensive; prices are much higher... people have lost the concept of the value of money with the euro." But: "People remember the price in francs, and they're shocked now when they use francs at how much more everything costs."

FP Passport's Katie Hunter writes that "the franc's reintroduction has helped the villagers of Collobrières strengthen one value -- their French identity." If only the U.S. had switched over to the Euro ten years ago, then we could feel nostalgic for our hyperinflated currency, instead of, you know, using it.

I tell this story a lot, but I first visited France when I was 20 in March 2000. France and Germany and a handful of other "strong currency" nations were deliberately devaluing their currency before switching to the Euro, for monetary policy reasons I don't completely understand. Anyways, the U.S. government was solvent and reasonably beloved and the dollar was robust, so we were buying unbelievable food at six francs to the dollar, full course prix fixe dinners for ten or fifteen bucks each, including wine. I never ate or loved Europe so well again. That's a bit of French identity that I would love to regain.

In Praise of Cheese

Hunter from DiBruno Bros., Philly's best cheese shop, on the history/biotechnology of cheese:

The cursory step of separating the curd from the whey is one of the original forms of biotechnology. This basic step, transforming a liquid to a solid (and a thinner liquid – whey - as a byproduct) allowed civilizations to exist in environments not bountiful enough to consistently supply adequate protein sources. In an era predating refrigeration, cheese was a means of storing milk weeks, months, even years. Not bad compared to the day or two a resident of the Fertile Crescent could expect from unaltered milk.

Cheese making techniques had come a long way by the time of the Romans. Accounts of cheeses with a suspicious resemblance to Parmaggiano were being described in the areas to the north of previous Etruscan territories. (Parmaggiano wasn’t actually referred to as such until the time of the Giovanni Boccaccio’s Decameron. Surely at that point, it had been produced for more centuries than one could count on their fingers.) Hard durable cheeses such as Parmaggiano - or to name another cheese of many, the sheep cheeses of Tuscany that predated the Roman era, and certainly were quite similar to the Pecorino Tuscano of today – were a means of nourishment a soldier could travel with for months in the hot Mediterranean climate. Soldiers were freed from the worry of foraging for fresh food. Cheese was antiquities version of an MRE!

Also, short, counterintuitive advice for cheese storage:

Real cheese is alive. Suffocation is the enemy. Plastic wrap, plastic bags, and other airtight containers should be avoided in all cases except the previously mentioned fresh cheeses. These storage methods trap in stale air, as well as prohibiting the cheese from venting moisture and other byproducts. Once a soggy oxygen deprived environment develops, anaerobic bacteria present themselves. This is a bad thing. This is spoilage. Butcher paper, parchment paper, and wax paper avoid this problem.

Whiz With(out)

Peter Mucha at the Inquirer finally puts the kibosh on the notion that Cheese Whiz is the "authentic" topping for a Philly cheesesteak. But Marissa M. at Yelp is also right: "There is something terrible and yet totally wonderful about Whiz on your steak."

The Raw and the Cooked

Ken Silverstein's "The Revolution Will Not Be Pasteurized" is a long, readable, and balanced story about raw milk. It also includes several startlingly vivid moments, such as this:

Schmidt is a man of Teutonic certainty, but as he walked into the field soon after he’d sold the land, he was filled with doubt. The morning sun had turned the sky red, and mist hung around the legs of the cattle. While he twitched a stick at his bull, Xamos, to turn him away from the cows, Schmidt wondered whether it was even possible to run a farm in the manner he wanted. If he started selling his milk at industrial prices it would erode his meticulous style of farming. He would lose the direct connection to his customers. He’d have to push his cows to produce more milk. He’d be compelled to adopt the newest feed-management strategies and modernize his equipment. Schmidt didn’t see Xamos coming, just felt the explosion as the bull struck him. Even as he hit the ground, the animal was on him, bellowing. It stabbed with one horn and then the other, tearing up the earth and ripping off Schmidt’s clothes. One horn sank into Schmidt’s belly, another ripped into his chest and shoulder, grazing a lung. Only when his wife charged into the field, flanked by the couple’s snarling dogs, did Xamos retreat. Another man might have taken this attack as a sure sign, a demonstration of the folly of seeking harmony with nature. As Schmidt lay there bleeding into the earth, however, he felt only humility. “Nature is dangerous, yes,” he would tell me later. “But I can’t control it, and I can’t escape from it. I can only learn the best way to live with it.”

Or this:

Around the time that Chicago passed the first pasteurization law in the United States, in 1908, many of the dairies supplying cities had themselves become urban. They were crowded, grassless, and filthy. Unscrupulous proprietors added chalk and plaster of paris to extend the milk. Consumptive workers coughed into their pails, spreading tuberculosis; children contracted diseases like scarlet fever from milk. Pasteurization was an easy solution. But pasteurization also gave farmers license to be unsanitary. They knew that if fecal bacteria got in the milk, the heating process would eventually take care of it. Customers didn’t notice, or pay less, when they drank the corpses of a few thousand pathogens. As a result, farmers who emphasized animal health and cleanliness were at a disadvantage to those who simply pushed for greater production.

After a century of pasteurization, modern dairies, to put it bluntly, are covered in shit. Most have a viscous lagoon full of it. Cows lie in it. Wastewater is recycled to flush out their stalls. Farmers do dip cows’ teats in iodine, but standards mandate only that the number of germs swimming around their bulk tanks be below 100,000 per milliliter.

Black Holes and Coffee Nebulae

Why Starbucks actually helps mom and pop coffeehouses. - By Taylor Clark - Slate Magazine:

So now that we know Starbucks isn't slaughtering mom and pop, the thorny question remains: Why is Starbucks amplifying their business? It's actually pretty simple. In contrast to so-called 'downtown killers' like Home Depot or Wal-Mart, Starbucks doesn't enjoy the kinds of competitive advantages that cut down its local rivals' sales. Look at Wal-Mart. It offers lower prices and a wider array of goods than its small-town rivals, so it acts like a black hole on local consumers, sucking in virtually all of their business. Starbucks, on the other hand, is often more expensive than the local coffeehouse, and it offers a very limited menu; you'll never see discounts or punch cards at Starbucks, nor will you see unique, localized fare (or—let's be honest—fare that doesn't make your tongue feel like it's dying). In other words, a new Starbucks doesn't prevent customers from visiting independents in the same way Wal-Mart does—especially since coffee addicts need a fix every day, yet they don't always need to hit the same place for it. When Starbucks opens a store next to a mom and pop, it creates a sort of coffee nexus where people can go whenever they think 'coffee.' Local consumers might have a formative experience with a Java Chip Frappuccino, but chances are they'll branch out to the cheaper, less crowded, and often higher-quality independent cafe later on. So when Starbucks blitzed Omaha with six new stores in 2002, for instance, business at all coffeehouses in town immediately went up as much as 25 percent.

On The Menu

Anyone who's met me knows that I love to eat. And, I am an extremely democratic eater, which is a good fit for Philadelphia, which is an extremely democratic place for good food. From cheesesteaks, pretzels and cheap soul food to fine French dining, and especially the thick, yummy middle of Italian, Jewish, and Indian cuisine, Philadelphia has it all. Here is a short round-up of a few of my favorite things.

The salty: Well, maybe Philadelphia doesn't exactly have it all. Delicious proscuitto, dry rub bacon, cold cuts, and smoked salmon and trout, yes. But while the local potato chips are fine, I've begun importing my stash from Detroit, in the form of a box full of 1 oz. Halloween-sized bags of original Better Mades. My fix has a regular supply, and I don't eat a pound in a single sitting. (Delicious and responsible.) Plus, individual bags gives you a terrific whole-chip-to-crumb ratio.

The creamy: For cheesey imports, DiBruno Bros (either in the Italian Market or off Rittenhouse Square) can't be beat, but for staples, I turn to the Clark Park farmers' market. My Amish dairy hook-up supplies me with fresh raw milk -- really, the most fantastic stuff I have ever had -- and raw milk cheeses. The cheddar is fine, but the colby, which is aged less and has a more mild but complex flavor, is the very best. I didn't know what people were going on about with raw milk, but I am a true believer now. Luckily for me, it's legal to sell and drink the raw in Pennsylvania, without some of the quasi-legal contortions people go through in other states.

The sweet: The farmers' market is also my go-to stop-and-shop for small cakes, especially pumpkin, carrot and zucchini bread, and for fruit. My wife and I have both fallen head-over-heels in love with Asian pears. They are so juicy, lightly sweet, and full (I eat them right through the small core), and absolutely ready-to-eat. I don't know how we'll make it through the winter without them. Also available not far from the park: cupcakes and cherry walnut bagels from the Green Line Cafe, and croissants, tarts, and other pastries at the Restaurant School (up around 43rd and Walnut).

The robust: La Colombe coffee (roasted right here in Philly), particularly the rich Corsica blend. Half-and-half or light cream, and a packet of Splenda. My idea of heaven. You can buy the coffee by the bag or super-cheap by the cup at the Restaurant School, crazy expensive everywhere else.

The spicy: My wife has mastered the art of the Thai curry. First, curry paste and coconut milk from the Fu Wah Mini-Market. Fresh shrimp, which you can get at Whole Foods but we buy at a New Jersey Costco, or chicken thighs. Mushrooms, peppers, and onions from the market. Jasmine rice prepared with peas, cumin, and plenty of turmeric for color, boiled in a mixture of coconut milk and chicken stock. It's the sort of dish that makes you never want to go out or order in again. (But we do!) Fu Wah is also the home of unbelievable Vietnamese spicy tofu hoagies, cheap (less than 4$) and vegetarian (which, democrat that I am, is nice, but I don't particularly care) and right around the corner.

Sometimes it takes you years to figure out your own gastronomic map of the city, or even your own neighborhood. This is my sixth year in Philadelphia, and I still feel like I'm figuring things out. But it sure is delicious to continue to try.