kottke.org posts about food
This workshop founded in 1882 still makes dried bonito like they did back in the Edo period.
How katsuobushi — Japanese dried bonito, said to be the world’s hardest food — is made in Nishi-Izu, Japan. Inside Kanesa Katsuobushi Shoten, a workshop founded in 1882, 5th-generation craftsman Yasuhisa Serizawa still uses the 200-year-old “tebiyama” hand-fired smoke-drying method that only a few workshops in Japan preserve. Watch fresh bonito being filleted and boiled for 90 minutes, smoke-dried more than 10 times over a hand-tended wood fire, repaired with bonito paste, fermented with koji mold and sun-dried for months — over half a year until the fish becomes as hard as wood and shines like a jewel. From fresh catch to katsuobushi.
Check out Kanesa Katsuobushi Shoten’s website for more info; here’s what they say about the tebiyama drying/smoking method (Google translation):
This method of making dried bonito flakes has been used in the Tago district of West Izu for a long time, and its history is said to date back about 300 years (to the Edo period). It involves digging a vertical hole about 2 meters deep, burning firewood (raw wood from Izu: oak, sawtooth oak, cherry, etc.) from the bottom of the hole, and smoking and drying the dried bonito flakes with the high temperature of an open flame. This method is called the Tebiyama-shiki smoking method. It is the oldest existing smoking method, and only a few bonito flake manufacturers in the country continue to use this method to make dried bonito flakes, so it is said to be a legendary method. The Tebiyama-shiki smoking method is said to produce dried bonito flakes with a rich flavor because the surface of the bonito is smoked all at once with the high temperature of an open flame, locking in the umami.
(thx, caroline)
YouTuber Rob Martinez travelled to Columbus, Ohio to tell the story of what he calls the best sandwich shop in America, Wario’s Beef and Pork. Here’s part of the transcript of owner Stephan Madias talking about the restaurant:
For the longest time, especially the first two years, I was very protective of how the bread was sliced and I would not let anybody cut bread. It’s about the experience. I think about me eating the sandwich. Think about the things that happen when you get a big sandwich. You take that first bite into it. I want you to be able to, like, move this thing around. Take bites from the top, the bottom, the front, the back. And it’s held.
We’re very particular, and it’s part of the reason why we don’t have the bakery cut the bread is cuz we want to sort through our things. Yes, we have volume. Yes, we have speed, but [my employees] all have the integrity that we started when we only sold five sandwiches an hour when the shop first started. That’s part of being committed to the fundamentals and being consistent.
The devil’s in the details, man. You got to take the extra minute to do it. Some people like it. Some people complain about it.
As a fellow sandwich overthinker, I love the ethos and the process. And man, those sandwiches do look amazing — tomato butter, homemade whiz for the cheese steaks, a chicken caesar sandwich, what is not to like?
Over the past six months (leisurely) and in the past three weeks (intensely), I’ve cleaned out and packed up my entire house where I’ve been living for the past 10 years. I went through every bit and bob of what I owned and either:
- gave it away (fiddle leaf fig, grill, chairs, stuffed animals,1 blender, rugs)
- sold it (car, coffee table, lamp, iPad)
- put it into storage (art, mementos, chairs)
- took it with me (very little, mostly clothes & computing things)
Parting with my possessions was surprisingly easy. I’d been planning this move for a while now and had time to get used to the idea and say my farewells. And the concept of having a bunch of stuff, 95% of which I never used or thought about or even remembered owning, was really starting to make me itch. So out it went; I felt lighter with each thing that exited the house.
But I wasn’t expecting the spice drawer.
I was working my way through the kitchen when I opened the drawer with all of my spices and baking supplies. A pause. What do I do with these? I picked up a jar of smoked paprika and was suddenly flung back in time to 12 years ago. I remember exactly where I bought that paprika and why.
I’d recently moved into my own apartment after separating from my wife and was still trying to figure out how my new household was going to work. My kids came over a few times a week; what the hell were we going to eat for dinner? I was competent but not confident in the kitchen; Meg is a great cook and I couldn’t match her effort or output. I had to come up with my own meals that a) I could cook, b) the kids would actually eat, and c) were somewhat healthy.
One of the recipes I found was for smoky corn chowder, so I headed to the grocery store on 23rd St. to buy ingredients, including a jar of smoked paprika. The kids loved the corn chowder and it became a favorite of ours — something that they only ate over at Dad’s house.
Over the years, the kids and I amassed a small collection of recipes we loved and often had at my house — caldo verde, lasagne, buttermilk pancakes, taco salad, apple pie, and others — and the spices to cook them: oregano, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking powder, basil, baking soda, Ortega Taco Seasoning Mix 😂. I pulled each spice container out of the drawer and tried to remember what I’d cooked with it, what dishes it was in that we’d eaten together. I opened the tops to sniff some of the spices and was more strongly pulled back into those times when my kids were small and I was worried — no, I was terrified — about not being up to the task of filling their tummies, minds, and souls with the good stuff on my watch.
Man, so much of our time together revolved around food. The spice drawer hit me hard because it was a powerful olfactory reminder not only of the delicious meals we’d shared but also of my insecurity around parenting, how I slowly gained confidence, and how I eventually found freedom & pride in what I was able to offer my kids.
In the end, I had to throw all the spices out — no takers for half-used, decade-old containers of parsley flakes or jars of cumin — but I’ll always remember cleaning out that drawer and all of the memories it stirred up. Proust had his madeleines, but I doubt I’ll ever pass by a jar of smoked paprika in the supermarket or in someone’s spice drawer without feeling all of it all over again.
Something that still blows my mind is that every apple seed produces a new variety. Every single one.
This is a lovely short documentary about a project called Some Interesting Apples, which aims to find apples growing in unusual places (i.e. not commercial orchards but in places where people tend to discard apple cores):
The last three years I have been involved with a project called ‘Some Interesting Apples’, the primary aim of which is to record and, where characteristics make desirable (and sometimes where they don’t), preserve wilding apples, i.e., domestic apples growing on their own roots as the result of a discarded core.
Some of the best apples are then cultivated in an orchard dedicated to wild apples:
The ‘Some Interesting Apples’ project collects apples from wild trees that have been grown using cores thrown away — many from car windows or dropped from walkers and animals.
The wild trees or ‘wildlings’ are trees that grow from those apple cores discarded in hedges and along train tracks, footpaths and roadsides.
Their fruit often goes uneaten or rots — but have now instead be used to create a unique orchard.
The orchard has been developed from dropped fruit from more than 600 apple wildings in Cornwall.
It has now created Wilding Mother Orchard - the first ever orchard in the UK solely dedicated to cultivating wild-grown, chance-seedling apples.
The discovered apple varieties are named for their what3words locations; they have names like Horse Wish Gossip, Panes House Taxi, and Autumn Mushroom Spoke.
Apples are super interesting. I read it years ago now, but I still often think of Michael Pollan’s chapter on apples in The Botany of Desire.
Following a prompt from Joanna at Cup of Jo… The local deli or sandwich shop names a sandwich after you. What would be on it? Perhaps another way of asking the question: what’s your favorite sandwich that’s a little bit unusual?
I love a classic BLT, banh mi, or jambon beurre, but a sandwich that is fairly unique to me is tuna salad (made with pickles, pickle juice, and scallions), havarti, lettuce, and tomatoes on good white bread or a kaiser roll. I think that would be The Kottke at the local deli. Either that or something chopped?
A graphic of a floppy disk hamburger was created on an early Amiga computer, photographed, and then deleted (more specifically, it couldn’t be saved). Stuart Brown set out to recreate this image as accurately as possible, including colors, dimensions, etc. This is deliciously nerdy. Here’s the resulting image (with some horizontal padding I added):
(via unsung)
For his great visual field guide to the chili peppers of the world, Erik Gauger hand-drew 176 peppers from India, South America, Korea, Thailand, Africa, and seemingly every other place on the Earth.
Capsaicin, the compound that makes chili peppers hot is an evolutionary filter designed to punish mammals and reward birds. Mammals feel it as pain because mammal digestion destroys seeds. Birds don’t have the receptor that detects it, so they eat the fruit, fly off, and deposit the seeds far from the plant from which they ate. The plant needed birds, and birds didn’t mind the heat, because to them there was no heat to mind.
What we’ve built from that, from the paprika, the Thai bird’s eye, the ancho, the chocolate habanero, began as a dispersal mechanism. Humans entered the picture late and changed almost everything about the pepper’s form, flavor, and range. But the underlying logic is still there in every fruit: a molecule that says no to the animals who won’t deliver their seeds far from the tree.
Each drawing is accompanied by a description of the pepper, where it originated, the heat level, and even what hot sauces feature it.
See also Gauger’s Hot Sauces of the World page & poster.
I have a pizza oven and baked very underwhelming bread twice during the pandemic, but I’ve found it difficult to fall into a proper rabbit hole when it comes to dough-making. Focaccia might do it for me.
My daughter and I had been wanting to experiment with focaccia (and schiacciata) and so I suggested we make this Bon Appetit recipe that Alana recommended in this recent KDO recipe thread — it’s tough to resist “I am mildly famous for this focaccia. It’s bread for lazy people who love hot bread.” It’s me. I am lazy. I love hot bread.
We made it yesterday and it came out well: very delicious right out of the oven. And it was really the first time I’ve made dough where I’ve been like, “oh, I finally get why people say pizza/bread dough is a living thing”. Today we made sandwiches (mortadella, prosciutto, burrata, arugula) and they were quite good — but the focaccia crumb was pretty dense. Which sent me on a little bit of a research expedition, during which I found this video on YouTube:
Wow! Check out all those bubbles…ours didn’t look anything like that. I actually squealed when she pressed down on the bread and it sprung right back — that focaccia might be able to replace my car’s suspension. This recipe results in a more hydrated dough than the BonApp recipe does. And you work it more and it has different flour (00 instead of all-purpose). And the process looks only a little bit less lazy…manageable for me, I think. Looking forward to trying this out next!
I am not what you would call a dedicated home cook. But every once in a while, I get a bee in my bonnet and make something from my small cache of recipes or from something I saw online that looked good. Some of my go-tos include:
Rigatoni With White Bolognese (PDF)
Orecchiette with Sausage and Broccoli
Pressure Cooker Mushroom Risotto
Caldo Verde (Portuguese Potato and Kale Soup With Sausage)
Smoked Haddock Chowder (April Bloomfield)
The World’s Best Pancakes
Smoky Corn Chowder
Some of these aren’t particularly easy to make, but the flavors created with the extra time are worth it.
What are some of your favorite recipes?
(I don’t have any good photos of any of the above recipes, so I included one of some avocado toast I made: mashed avocado with evoo, tomatoes + balsamic vinegar, fried egg (crispy w/ runny yolk), chili oil, toast, lots of salt on everything.)1
In this lovely short film, the traditional Tibetan drink butter tea (bho jha) becomes a bridge between generations, outreach across cultures, and a reminder of the value of mindfulness.
From Clarissa Wei at Eater, more about butter tea and its place in Tibetan culture:
I stayed with Goulongzhu and her family in Tibet for four days in June, and every morning, without pause, she’d serve me a creamy bowl of yak butter tea for breakfast. In the early hours, she’d make a batch of crude black pu’erh tea — a fermented dark tea from China — brewed along with a great deal of salt. Then, a fat serving of yak butter would go into a bowl along with toasted barley powder and milk curds, and she’d pour the tea in until the liquid nearly reached the rim. I’d mix it all together with my chopsticks and sip. It was creamy and substantial — overflowing with healthy fats. The highland barley gave it a nutty finish, and in those four days, yak butter tea was something I looked forward to immensely in the mornings.
In addition to his great series Subway Takes, Kareem Rahma does another series called Keep the Meter Running where he hops into NYC cabs, interviews the drivers, and asks them to take him to their favorite places.
In the run-up to the NYC mayoral election last year, Rahma jumped into a cab driven by Mouhamadou Aliy, who wanted to pick up his friend along the way to his favorite spot. That friend was now-mayor Zohran Mamdani, who tells the story of how the two of them protested & went on a hunger strike together. It’s a great conversation and video…I watched a snippet of it on Instagram (I missed it last year) and had to track down the whole thing:
I’m sorry, how can you not vote for this guy? The real deal, indeed — and voters could tell. There are so many politicians, particularly on the left, who talk a good game, push all the right buttons, and then they sputter or freeze or about-face when the rubber meets the road. It feels hollow; no wonder voters and activists find it hard to get behind the calculation of politicians who they know, deep down, are just saying certain things to get a vote. At least with Republicans, they tell you they’re going to run the country into the ground and then they go out and try to do it.
London bakery The Dusty Knuckle cleverly used a loaf of bread as a graph to illustrate the costs of running their business:
From their post:
This comes off the back of a big decision to increase our bakers’ pay ahead of the new London Living Wage coming in April 2026. That annual increase is double what everyone expected; from £13.85 to £14.80 per hour. If you want to know more about how the rate is calculated check out the work of the Living Wage Foundation @livingwagefoundation. This is fundamentally a dignity wage line that as a company we don’t feel prepared to drop beneath.
The Dusty Knuckle is a “purpose-driven” business: “we strive to use our busy operations to help at-risk youth take forward steps in their lives through on-the-job training and mentorship”. The Insta post says that “all the bread you lot ate in 2025 allowed DK to train 70 young people from the prison and care services into the workplace”. (thx, david)
Suzanne Saroff makes unusual photographic sculptures, including these dynamic olive oil shapes.
The Anthony Bourdain Reader (Amazon) is a collection of writings from the late author, TV host, and chef, including some unpublished pieces.
The Anthony Bourdain Reader is also a showcase for new and never-before-seen material, like diary entries from Bourdain’s first trip to France as a teenager and “It’s Cruel and Unforgiving Terrain,” a piece on the New York restaurant scene, as well as unpublished short fiction like “I Quit My Job Yesterday” and chapters from No New Messages, his unfinished novel. These newly discovered pieces all contribute to give the fullest picture of the man behind the books.
Here’s a sample from his teenage diary he kept on a trip to France:
And from a review in the Guardian:
Some of the loveliest passages come when Bourdain writes with just-so tenderness and precision about his family: a journey with his brother to La Teste-de-Buch in France among whose sand dunes they holidayed as young men; the outsize pleasure he takes in his five-year-old daughter nibbling on Pecorino and an anchovy. I suspect Bourdain will be read in years to come less as a writer about food than of food work. Everywhere he lands — whether in struggling bistros, mob joints or midtown nightclubs — he warms to the subaltern caste of underpaid toilers slicing and sizzling and sweating away.
The book was edited by his longtime agent Kimberly Witherspoon and contains a foreword by Patrick Radden Keefe. Buy now at Bookshop.org or Amazon.
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are probably my favorite big brand candy (perhaps only bested by Reese’s Pieces), so it was a real treat (groan) to see how the company makes them cups.
But did you know Reese’s purposely over-roasts their peanuts just enough to bring out a bold nutty flavor? The extra heat is what gives their peanut butter its signature granular texture and taste fans can’t get enough of it. And funnily enough, this technique was first discovered by accident, thanks to a faulty overheating roster in HB Reese’s original factory. What could have been a ruined batch turned out to be their unmistakable flavor breakthrough they still use to this day.
Spoiler: PBCs are not made by two people bumping into each other on the street, as we were led to believe in the 80s.
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