There are places we all go to that seem to defy nostalgia. As much as we want to remember them fondly, it seems like the rose-tinted glasses just keep falling off when we really look back. We remember the good things, we miss them, but there’s just too many memories that make us sad or angry wrapped up in the place that keep us from ever really feeling a part of there again.

I spent the past week in such a place- my hometown on the South Jersey Shore.

The first morning I woke up in my family’s house- the house I lived in from ages 4 to almost 24- I looked out of the window and just tried to process it before breakfast.

I quickly realized this was a mistake, and that I needed to eat first.

Down in the kitchen, as I was whipping up the simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, cheese, sausage, and tea, I got back to thinking.
I don’t believe I ever truly belonged in this community. School days around here were not the happiest- I had few to no friends, I was picked on regularly, and our neighborhood had no kids my age anyway. We lived close to a beach block, so most of the houses around us were vacation homes, standing like hollow shells for most of the year.

The town is small enough that you could bike or walk virtually anywhere in about 30 minutes, but I don’t really remember it having the “small town” vibe, where everyone knows everyone else. Part of that might be the aforementioned vacation homes (half the city’s residence not being present most of the year), and partly the demographic- if you were to imagine a gated community without fences or gates, and the size of a city, that would be a pretty good idea of the people.

That night, when I came home to the big, empty house after work, I had an urge to go for a beer and write. I asked local friends where a good walking distance bar was (alas, another sad fact- this is my hometown, but I didn’t start drinking here, so I had no “local.”) Many of them suggested places a ways outside the city, insisting there were no really decent bars in the town itself.

All the same, I needed a walk, followed by beer, followed by a quietish place to write. So I picked a bar at random and walked to it.

Here I got my first slight hint that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something homey left for me in my hometown.

I walked into the small bar by the bay, clearly full of a history I had no part in, and much of which is likely no longer talked about. I sat down, ordered a beer, and was just about to start writing when I heard my name called out and a hand on my shoulder. They belonged to Peggy, an old friend of mine from grade school whom I hadn’t seen in nearly 5 years. This bar was apparently her favorite hangout when she was home. The evening lasted several hours longer than I had expected as we chatted, caught up, and had a good time. I won’t say the years seemed to melt away- we are both very different people than we were when we were kids, but it was good to know that the two people we had become could enjoy each other’s friendship and company.

The next day, I remembered something else I had missed about living in this town- the presence of the beach. Before work one morning, I woke up early, ate breakfast, and took a long walk- first along the street, but for the way back, I pulled off my socks and shoes and walked home along the beach.

God, I had missed the feel of sand and saltwater on my skin. The sea was frigid cold (as it IS still early April), but the sand was cold, wet, and firm. I didn’t mind that I knew no faces on the walk, or that few people even acknowledged each other, or said “good morning.” For that morning, the sea, sand, and the smell of the beach was all I required. 

In an hour or so, I’ll have my car loaded and I’ll be returning back to my current home in the Pine Barrens- where I’ve made new friends, have a “spot” at the local bar I love where I sit and write, and where people are increasingly learning my name and face.

For one week, though, I was here- the home before I was home. Where all the formative years happened that I’ve bounced between trying to forget, and trying to cling to. 
There are many places and stages in our lives that we enjoy that strange, complicated dance with. You know what? That’s alright. No one needs to have “glory days”, or fond remembrances of their “old stomping grounds.” They weren’t always good, but they are roots, and like it or not, we left footprints there- no matter how many layers of dust sit in them.

Perhaps you can go home again, but bear in mind places change too.

Stay classy,

-The BHB

I’m willing to bet everyone has heard the aphorism I picked for the title of this entry in one way or another. “You get out what you put in.” “You get what you give.” “If you want the best, use the best.” 
Obviously it applies to your work, your relationships, your hobbies, your lifestyle- virtually everything (food and baking in particular!)

It applies to your mind too. I’ve mentioned in a previous post about how artists build up a mental gallery, comprised of everything in a given medium they’ve ever experienced. Painters recall their favorite works, poets their favorite poems, cooks and bakers their favorite dishes. From these elements, they draw inspiration to create what’s new.

It follows then: if your gallery is filled with asinine crap, what can you possibly put out? The only thing you can get out of bad examples is dire warnings. Good musicians seek out the work of other good musicians. Good writers read good books, and culinarians should eat good food.

As I was thinking of what to write for this entry, my eyes wandered around my bedroom and fell on my bookshelves. I read quite a lot, and very varied subjects- religion and philosophy (comparative theology was an interest for much of my life), psychology (my BA degree), poetry, fiction, biographies, epics, and- of course- my cookbooks and food texts.

Much of what I know and do is not just due to personal experience and education- formal, tangential, and otherwise,- but also to the sheer amount of information and quality of work I had chosen to surround and bombard myself with.
Here are some of my favorites. The list nowhere near definitive, but for anyone out there that wants to build a mental gallery of their own- or just have some interesting material to hang in it, I highly recommend these as a starting point.

• Kitchen Confidential, Medium Raw, and The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain

So, you want to be a professional cook? Dream of getting paid to make magic in the kitchen of some big city bistro? Here’s real talk- Bourdain spent 25 years in the culinary world, and has no problem telling you what it’s really like. When your done with that, he tells you what it’s like to travel the world- talking to people and eating food you’ve only ever seen on TV. If you STILL want to be a cook after all that, you’re just crazy enough to do it.

• The Joy of Cooking by Marion Rombauer Becker, et al

There is a reason a copy of this book was in your mother’s kitchen. And your grandmothers. And probably her mother’s too. It is a timeless and indispensable guide to the basics of all manner of preparations. It is your encyclopedia.

• The Elements of Cooking by Michael Ruhlman

If Joy of Cooking is your encyclopedia, meet the index. Ruhlman breaks down the little tips and secrets professional chefs use to make the ordinary into the extraordinary. If you are a student, buy a copy and keep it on you at all times. No recipes here- just know-how.

• Professional Baking by Wayne Gisslen

This was the first baking textbook I ever got. It still sits on my shelf- an A to Z for everything to do with bread, pastry, or almost anything else to do with putting flour and liquid in an oven. It’s a little bit pricy, but if you’re a baker, it’s a perfect resource.

• Advanced Bread and Pastry by Michel Suas

Another school textbook, this one focused almost exclusively on the precise science and exquisite art of breadmaking. If you are aware that there is better bread out there than Wonder Bread, that it comes from places beside the supermarket, or if you just want to wail on some dough at the end of the day and eat it later, this is the book you need.

• How Baking Works: Exploring the Fundamentals of Baking Science by Paula I. Figoni

If you’re like me, it wasn’t just the warm fuzzies of feeding friends and loved ones that drew you to baking, or the pride and accomplishment dervied from working with your hands either. It was the chance to play mad scientist in the kitchen and eat your experiments. This book is the beginner’s science textbook of culinary school- want to know why we use wheat flour over others? Or why apples turn brown so quickly? Or what happens in sourdough that makes it sour? Here’s where you start.

• Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat by Bee Wilson

Here is the history text. Want to know why we use a wok for stir-fry? Or why you can find wooden spoons or something like in almost every kitchen? Feed your inner history nerd and find how how technology changed the food we eat and how we eat it.


In addition to these, I highly suggest the following as well-

• Your favorite holy book (if religious)

You can’t know where you are going if you don’t know where you’ve been. Study your favorite ancient texts. If you aren’t religious, learn where your family came from and learn everything you can about the culture. You are born with a heritage- the acme of the experience and lives of all your ancestors.  If none of these apply, just pick a culture that fascinates you. Culture is a VAST pool of knowledge and inspiration to draw from, and it’s all yours. Jump in.

• Your favorite fiction

There is no shame in escaping the real world now and again. Find your favorite fiction, and read it over again. Follow Frodo across Middle Earth. Stand beside Allan Quatermain as he traverses Africa, or stand between two worlds with Harry Potter and his friends. Go on voyages- make sure to bring back everything you’ve learned. When you finish all the books of your favorite author, find out who THEIR favorite authors were, and read their books too. The inspiration for your inspiration… think about it.

• Your favorite poetry

Yes, I know not everyone likes poetry. Or not everyone gets it. Folks who don’t think they “get” poetry tend to imagine prancing ninnies in tights holding skulls, or turtleneck-laden beatniks wailing on bongos. Real facts? Music is poetry. Song is poetry. Poetry is rhythm, meter, cadence, word choice, intonation, and emotion. It’s speech. Start with whatever you know, and branch from there. My personal favorites include Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Shel Silverstein, Robert Service, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, and Langston Hughes. Start with any of them.

Once again, this list was nowhere near exhaustive- but hopefully these will be good resources for you- knowledge, idea fodder, or just something interesting to talk about with friends.
And who doesn’t need more of that?

Stay literate, stay awake, and of course-

Stay Classy,

The BHB

My friend: “Look at that, how gorgeous is that!?”
Me: “Very pretty. Looks a bit too busy for me, though.”
My friend: “What do you mean, busy? This is art!”
Me: “I never said it wasn’t! Whoever did it clearly has skill, talent, and vision- I just wouldn’t want to eat it.”

I wasn’t lying at all. The picture was of an immaculately conceived wedding cake- pristine flowers of gum paste exploded from the corners. Delicate chocolate work clung to the velvet-smooth sides of the tiers seeming to defy gravity. Flashes of color seemed to dance over the cake, like wisps of flame against a snowy field in a full moon.

It was pristine.
It was exquisite.
It was positively breathtaking.
I didn’t want to eat it.
So, in my opinion, it failed as food.

As I’ve discussed before, very often I’ve been asked by friends and relatives if I didn’t want to have my own show someday, going into a business like Ace of Cakes or Cake Boss, and my lack of desire for such work has been met by various levels of incredulity. I recall one conversation with a relative who was positively exasperated and infuriated when I insisted that I didn’t want to grow my business to such a point that I would no longer have to bake- in his words, where I could “just show up on Monday, collect my check, make sure no one’s hurt themselves, and leave.”
He insisted I was being idealistic and naive. I insisted that he just didn’t “get it.”
In a way, we were both right.

To my mind, food shouldn’t just be beautiful- it should be appetizing. Any outward beauty or elegance should be in service to making the dish whet the appetite- to make that first bite “taken with the eye” utterly intoxicating and addictive. Food is a unique art form in that a vital part of its existence and reason for being is its destruction. Name a single book what was written with the INTENT it should be destroyed. How about a painting? A song written so that it should never be sung by anyone again? It doesn’t exist.
Only food finds its ultimate fulfillment in its moment of destruction.
Food, despite all the meaning and beauty and symbolism we attach to it, is what in the end? S*** in waiting.

What makes food beautiful to me? Three words- “Simplicity, with elegance.”
Put another way, ordinary things done extraordinarily well. 
I want my food to look like food, but I want it to look like EXQUISITE food. For example, can you think of something more plain and ordinary than a pie? They are everywhere- housewives make them. Definitely not something you’d find on the menu of a Michelin Star winning restaurant. 

A pie done with ELEGANCE, however, is something else.
A warm, soothing aroma from the oven that wraps its arms around you like a loving grandmother.
A soft, crackling sound from the crust as it cools and the layers shrink and separate.
The intricate, delicate crimping of the edges- reminiscent of a wreath of flowers, or a hand-sewn lace.
The engaging, golden color and shine, provided by a perfectly mixed eggwash, brushed on the crust at the RIGHT temperature, at the RIGHT time.
Vents, clean and sharp as the knife that created them, offering a peek at the goodness inside.
And finally, the filling- homemade, with the BEST and FRESHEST ingredients, in the PRECISE proportions to create a filling neither too stiff, nor too runny.

Just writing all that made me drool.

It is wonderful, necessary, and desirable to have artistry and skill. But elegance and finesse are something completely different. If you can execute your work with that, even the simplest things can be a work of art.
And they’ll be food.
Food that people want to eat.

Be tasteful,
be elegant,
and of course,

Stay classy,

-BHB