Small plates: Share and Zins

Yesterday, I heard on the radio an Australian who was in town for the International Writers Workshop say, when the discussion turned to food, that she was surprised that portions were “the size of small buildings.”

Yes, that’s how we eat here in the Midwest America.

But in the last couple of weeks I’ve eaten at a two restaurants focusing on so-called “small plates” — dishes that only offer a half-dozen bites or so.

First was Share, a month-old place in the renovated Sheraton in downtown Iowa City. The other day was lunch at the reopened Zins in downtown Cedar Rapids. I wish there were more restaurants like them.

Share goes for hip and laid back. Small wine list but offers bottles, glasses and demi glasses (basically a smaller, cheaper pour). Food is decent, and prices are reasonable. It hasn’t had its grand opening yet, so there weren’t a lot of people there when I reviewed the place for Corridor Buzz (under a stunningly dull headline) which was nice.

Zins goes for a little more elegance: white tablecloths and nice china. It reopened exactly one year after it closed from the flooding of Cedar Rapids. (They’ve done a nice, subtle job of memorializing the flood with a blue line and date at the water’s high point in the entry way, and a framed mud-stained tablecloth with batik-like white showing through where glasses, plates and silverware had been.)

Lunch at Zins is a steal (two plates and a drink for $8), and dessert is decent (I tried “bacon & eggs,” which they describe as “vanilla panna cotta with peach puree, chocolate covered bacon with smoked sea salt, espresso caramel sauce” and sounds more interesting than it was).

Oddly, I more comfortable sharing small plates than I am entrees, though entrees could probably benefit more from the treatment since plodding through an entree is pretty boring after a few bites.

That’s why I found it odd when our waitress at Zins seemed surprised that we would order small plates and then, you know, share.

Metaphors: Selling snowmen

Selling snowmen to Eskimos
Information Architects‘ “The Value of Information

Information on the Internet is as common as snow in the arctic. You can’t expect Eskimos to buy a snowman.

Jay Rosen on Twitter

Journalist: hey, I made a snowman. Inuit: nice! Journalist: it took me all day. Inuit: what’s your point? Journalist: that’ll be five bucks.

Metaphors: Adam and Eve, horny teens, Titanic (again)

Priests, or going down with the Titanic
Jeff Jarvis, paraphrasing Howard Owens in The real sin: Not running businesses

Like priests looking for someone to sacrifice, Alan Mutter, Steve Buttry, Howard Owens, and Steve Yelvington have been on the lookout for the sin that led newspapers astray. For Mutter, it’s not charging; for Buttry, it’s not innovating; for Owens, it’s tying online dingies to print Titanics (my poetic license); for Yelvington, it’s inaction.

Teenagers experimenting with sex
David Armano, paraphrased in the Charlotte Observer

Keynote speaker David Armano told a spillover crowd that businesses on social media today are like teenagers experimenting with sex: They don’t know what to do, but they really want to do it. Then they’re disappointed when they finally get to do it.

Original Sin
Alan Mutter’s Mission possible? Charging for web content (with bonus TV Show title joke cliche)

It is going to be just as tough for publishers to overcome their Original Sin as it has been for mankind to get past the original Original Sin committed when Adam and Eve partook of the forbidden fruit.

Steve Buttry’s Newspapers’ Original Sin: Not failing to charge but failing to innovate

Mutter is right that newspapers are still paying for an Original Sin committed in the early days of the Internet, but he (along with the AP story and lots of newspaper executives today) chose the wrong sin.

Howard Owens’ The Newspaper Original Sin: Keeping online units tethered to the mother ship (with bonus spaceship metaphor giving it a Scientology quality)

The Original Sin was? Failure to create separate business units for online.

Steve Yellvington’s Original sin? I don’t think so, but ….

Having been on more than one side of that question, and having been one of the originals, I categorically reject the notion of any “original sin.”

Unless, of course, you think inaction is a sin.

Metaphors: Porn

The Adult Entertainment Industry
Jessica Pressler’s What the Newspaper Industry Can Learn from the Adult Entertainment Industry

A recent story in the L.A. Times takes a look at the struggling porn industry, which, like the newspaper industry, has been deeply affected by both the downturn and the changing technological landscape. DVD sales of porn have ground nearly to a halt, pay-per-view is down by nearly 50 percent, and websites behind pay walls are suffering as more and more amateur pornographers offer their work on the Internet for no cost. “We always said that once the Internet took off, we’d be OK,” the co-chairman of adult-industry giant Vivid Entertainment observed. “It never crossed our minds that we’d be competing with people who just give it away for free.”

Metaphors: Hummer, 1996 Honda

1996 Honda
Jim Barnett’s Why NYT Co. might not be as quick to sell the Globe as you might think at Nieman Journalism Lab

The Globe does cost a lot more than my Honda to operate. But the really big bucks — the $1.1 billion purchase price — is money long since spent. Just like the cost of a new car bought 13 years ago, there’s no way to recover anything close to the purchase price. I can tell by checking the Blue Book value.

General Motors’ Hummer
Steve Buttry’s AP contradiction: Move forward but restore

When I read the Associated Press “Protect, Point, Pay” plan, I think of the Hummer.

General Motors thought it was moving forward when it trotted out the massive sport-utility version of a military vehicle. The Hummer represented a lot of smart work by a lot of engineers and GM sold a lot of Hummers. It carried on a GM tradition of massive vehicles under the Cadillac, Buick and Oldsmobile brands. But how did the Hummer work out in the long run? How’s GM doing today? In a world threatened by climate change and in a nation dependent on oil from unstable regions, the Hummer was simply the wrong move.

On holiday: the “Garden State” is so appropriate for New Jersey, but not in a good way

I’ve been in southern New Jersey since Saturday, but even before then I was debating the merits of the state’s claim to the “Garden State” moniker. By which I mean I was disagreeing with an aunt, via Twitter, about how Jersey corn compares to Iowa corn (sweet corn, not the stuff we produce for animals and ethanol).

I didn’t even need to try this year’s vintage of Jersey corn, I said, to know it was inferior to Iowa sweet corn, even in an admittedly down year for Iowa sweet corn.

But now that I’m here again, I understand why calling New Jersey the “Garden State” is completely appropriate. Let me explain.

When I have had a garden in years past, the idea has always been grand: a plethora of fresh, amazing produce that can be fantastic eating and then bounty enough to be canned for fall and winter. This is the dream that is also “Jersey fresh.”

Reality is much different: beetles, rabbits and squirrels render inedible whatever meager fruit appears  on our plants. Some never ripens, others cross pollinates to produce some freakish hybrid, and it’s never in a good way. Always extreme disappointment.

And so it has been with New Jersey produce: nice idea, poor execution. I’ve had some hard “Jersey fresh” tomatoes and starchy “Jersey fresh” corn that isn’t even in the same league as Midwestern fare. (The wife reports that the peaches have been good. The blueberries aren’t bad, either.) But this isn’t the Heartland. It’s just the Garden State.

At least they have scrapple. And cheese steaks.

The affectionate slapping of ingredients

In Michael Pollan’s recent Times piece on how we Americans have stopped cooking for ourselves and now just watch people cook on TV, he mentions Julia Child, the cooking-show pioneer. It was one line in particular that caught my attention: his mention of Child’s “deep sensual delight” in the “fondling and affectionate slapping of ingredients in their raw state.”

I have affectionately slapped ingredients and witnessed other cooks doing the same on many occasions, though almost always meat. (I apologize in advance for what, at least to my immature mind, are unavoidable, snicker-inducing descriptions of meat rubbing.)

When I was turning a pork belly into bacon, I spent an inordinate amount to time flipping and massaging the 12-pound hunk of pork.

When I hung out with the Lincoln Café crew as they broke down whole pig, I noticed both Matt Steigerwald and Andy Schumacher rub the pig lovingly and absentmindedly.

And there was the serrano ham hanging in a Barcelona market that I felt compelled to smack, leaving a stench that was nearly impossible to wash off my hand. (I assume because of the hindquarter’s age or cheapness or both.)

What is it about ingredient slapping that is so pleasurable?

Perhaps it’s because cooking and food are, by their natures, sensual experiences, even though there is clear science to it. Cooking well means recognizing fine differences. A good sense of touch can be difference between perfect and overcooked steak. Or under-kneaded and perfect dough. Or a perfect or broken emulsion.

Touching seems, at least to me, one way a cook reinforce the art in the science that is cooking.