A Word On Food

The Foods Of India

Jun 17, 2014

‘A Word on Food’ is done with words of course. Where would I be without them? Our blonde-haired, blue-eyed granddaughter Audrey is not yet two yet she is teaching me to try more communication...


Jun 4, 2014
Containers filled with caviar.
Norman Van Aken

You don’t eat caviar because you’re hungry. But the portion set before us at a dinner the other night was certainly capable of staving off a serious quantity of pang.

We all eye’d the curvaceous morsels of edible hedonism. They were caviar-stuffed, chive-tied crêpes perched upon the base of empty, over-turned, long stemmed Riedel wine glasses. This caviar presentation was done in the style of the legendary “beggars purses” as created by Chef Barry Wine the once-upon-a-gilded-time owner of the ‘Quilted Giraffe’ restaurant of New York City.


Jun 4, 2014
Pictured from left to right, Onions in a skillet going through the cooking process of caramelization.
Norman Van Aken

Inevitably I have a conversation with nearly every chef that comes to work with me as well as the students who attend my cooking classes. It has to do with a cooking term “caramelization”.


May 21, 2014
A plate of crispy nachos topped with jalapeños, sour cream, and guacamole.
Norman Van Aken


May 10, 2014
A Hamburger with fries, ketchup and mustard.
Norman Van Aken


May 7, 2014
Green bell peppers for pope chilies.
Norman Van Aken

Culinary Couples

Apr 29, 2014
A picture of artisan containers
Norman Van Aken

You and Me Darlin’. Like Ham and Eggs. Like Cream and Sugar. You know what I mean Love?

Like Bogey and Bacall some things are meant to be unified a Oneness out of Two. It is the way of the world. When I think of the great food marriages I swirl in a dance of dualities. Salt and Pepper. Peanut Butter and Jelly. Chocolate and Vanilla. What causes some things to match so perfectly that we rarely think of them alone? That their still stunning singularity is magnified by more than a power of two when twined?

Sopa De Pollo

Apr 19, 2014

The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, wrote in “Ode to Salt”

“I know you won’t believe me,

but it sings,

salt sings… Dust of the sea,

in you the tongue receives a kiss from ocean night…

in it, … we taste infinitude”

I remember looking at a can of soy sauce one day in the store room of Louie’s Backyard’s kitchen… and printed upon it were these words, “Established in 1250”, … as in the year 1250. “My Lord”, I muttered … to no one else … “that’s an old company.”

Few cooking aromas create a deeper longing in me as much as those as of roasting potatoes.

They're out there! Bursting through the black-dirt fields with a red-lipped lusciousness that only a woman as brazen as Mother Nature could muster or afford. Folks…I’m talking about strawberries if you haven’t guessed yet! To get your own skip the grocery stores at this time of year! Drive and you won’t have to drive far the Florida Strawberry Season is upon us and in full swing! We often go to the town of Homestead and Knauss Berry Farms for ours but truly many places in Florida will work this time of year.

When I was 19, 20 and 21 years of age … I seemed to be on a yo-yo between my boyhood home in Illinois and the place I was seeking. I wanted sunlight. I wanted music. I wanted good books.

I didn’t know I wanted … Fried Chicken too!

We drive about 60 miles round-trip to get our tortillas these days. I don’t wish to think … as an accountant might… how much gas that costs per tortilla … but these tortillas are worth it … partly to the see the face of the 70-something woman who sells them to me from her little bodega. She sells lengua and such too. Her shop is named “Moreno’s” and I urge you to make the trek. It is down in the bosom of our South Florida’s growing region … which encircles the appropriately named village of ….  ‘Homestead’.

The way my mother taught me to make cinnamon toast was to start with raisin bread and toast it to perfection.

She might have timed it by how long it took her to jump into her waitress work uniform before slathering it with rich and creamy Wisconsin sweet butter. Then she sprinkled a combination of sugar and cinnamon out of our plastic, yellow  ‘baseball player’ figurine bottle that was covered with wax paper tucked under a red metal lid tha t doubled as the faux baseball boy’s ‘cap’. She usually slathered enough butter on the toast so that the cinnamon and sugar mix slide over the top of it like grains of sand dancing in the ebb of an ocean wave.