Category Archives: media

My Kitchen Rules: I can see burnt bits

When I was a kid there were crackers called Fish Shapes (I think they were among the early Arnott’s Shapes). They were foul. But if you were at a party you just had to have some, finding it hard to stop at the first handful. Despite their revoltingness, they were compulsive eating.

In a similar vein, My Kitchen Rules 2011 is compulsive viewing. I sat on the train home last night wishing I wasn’t going to be home in time for another dose of this distasteful, mediocre circus of the nice, naïve, ‘noying and nasty. Alas, Metro trains were running on time.

A columnist for Crikey.com asked on Monday “Why does this program remind me of Big Brother and all its negativity?” Nicely put.

Of course, it’s not just the producers’ deliberate choice of some distinctly unsympathetic personalities that keeps viewers simultaneously horrified and fascinated, but also the stunningly awful abilities of many of the contestants to (a) organise themselves, (b) work as a team, (c) cook.

I gather that the contestants submitted a number of menus for their dinner parties and were only told on the day which menu they would cook. Wouldn’t you, in their position, have practised most of the menu items? Perhaps have worked out how to tea-smoke duck? Checked whether deep-fried chocolate-risotto-encased ice-cream balls was a tasty idea? Googled “blue fin tuna” to work out whether ecological shame should be on the menu?

I know a few very competent cooking bloggers who wouldn’t have wanted to attempt many of those menus in a mere three hours, but hey, maybe that’s why we didn’t audition for the show!

I can’t see why My Kitchen Rules is such a ratings winner for Channel Seven. Last year’s run was novelty and horror. This year’s is the same, but with extra tiresome bitchiness and incompetence. And hosts Manu Feildel and Pete Evans, as charming as they are, are now so scripted, re-shot and dramatically paused that their presence is just wooden.

So I’m thinking… if one of the contestants could just go beserk with the kitchen implements, the show could end happily (for viewers) and prematurely. What an elimination!

Does anyone even remember who was in it – or won – last year? Didn’t think so.


Postscript: I wrote the above just after the episode finished. Alas that meant the telly was still on when Conviction Kitchen started. I didn’t see the first episode, but my first impressions were of a distasteful, exploitative piece of reality TV. Other shows manage shameless prejudiced overtones (the xenophobic Border Security) or manipulative tempting and shaming (Biggest Loser), but do we need to combine prejudice, tempt-n-shame and a lottery-for-freedom for Conviction Kitchen’s participants? That makes a mockery of the transformative intentions of the learn-to-cook exercise.

Isn’t it morally reprehensible to pour a drink for people subject to a no-alcohol restriction and then see if they’ll drink? Is it mere coincidence that a camera happens to be focused on a participant who suddenly admits to a legal problem to the chef, while another camera just happens to be trained on the chef’s face? Why do the promos and pre-advertisement previews emphasise drama and failures? It wins the voyeurs’ votes. At least chef Ian Curley seems to have had the best intentions with the participants and series.

NOTE: This is not the place for discussion of rehabilitation/crime/etc, so comments along those lines won’t be published.

Can the honest reputation of foodblogs survive the PR-foodblogger relationship?

Let me start with a series of questions…

  • Did you hear about the Singaporean blogger who got entangled in a mess of accusation and counter-accusation about a free meal? At first it seemed like ego, but later facts indicate it was other people’s egos, plus some PR/restaurant dirty dealing.
  • Do you sigh with disillusionment when you discover yet another foodblog that now features effusive sponsored product or restaurant reviews?
  • Did you know that there is now a chocolatier (Melb.) and a patisserie (Syd.) banned from all mention on Syrup & Tang because of deliberate pseudo-genuine comments promoting (“shilling”) their products? (And a third (Melb.) will be if they try once more.)
  • Were you invited by PR company Media Moguls to an unspecified “blogger event”, but first had to provide your visitor stats? (In correspondence I described this as “rudely presumptuous”.)
  • Have you seen comments on other blogs protesting their “genuine punter” nature and recommending an establishment? Some of those come from the restaurant’s own internet connection… funny, that.
  • Have you received PR-spam because a Melbourne blogger working for a PR company appears to have added her private address book to the company’s database? (I’ll name her if I get one more piece of unsolicited garbage in my inbox.)
  • Have you heard about (at least one) Melbourne blogger who visits cafés, asks probing questions during busy service, and conspicuously takes flash photos without asking? (It’s about the lack of courtesy, not the photos.)
  • Have you noticed that bloggers are increasingly being invited to PR events for which there is an entry/attendance fee? (They wouldn’t try to pull that one on mainstream media!)

It seems foodblogging has matured far enough to be entwined in a pretty tiresome game of cat and mouse with restaurateurs and public relations (PR) companies, egos, money and more.

This article has been brewing for a few months, as I tried to reconcile my opinions about freedoms, community, advertising and blogging. Luckily for me, Brian at Fitzroyalty was perhaps the first to loudly object in detail to some recent developments while I was still vacillating, then Claire published an encouraging post reminding readers of how diverse and interesting the blogosphere can be. Ed also wrote a simple to-the-point post back in June.

I’ve rejigged what I first intended to write, but there will be some natural overlap with other people’s articles (some of which I may have overlooked or forgotten) or comments. As each of our readerships differ a bit, I hope some readers don’t mind the overlap.

When I started blogging, I knew there were different types of bloggers, variously wanting to share, inform, diarise, explore, think, make friends, review, cook, boast, show off, promote a business, etc. Sydney blogs were already known for a bit of a commercial tinge here and there. More numerous Melbourne blogs were generally a bit less “blingy” and there seemed to be more interaction across a broad range of people.

Our first three gatherings were open-invitation, sponsor-free, competition-free, prize-free, warm affairs, with a bit of trepidation but not much showing off. They were enjoyable. Reading reports of the recent commercially-coloured get-together, I was interested to see how few of Melbourne’s long-standing bloggers attended, and I’m guessing more than a few were put off by the change in tone (though I’m not claiming that the people who did attend were at fault, or didn’t enjoy themselves).

Blogs meet commerce

Just like magazines or TV shows, the publisher/producer of a blog chooses what to present and the readers can choose what content they consume. It could therefore be argued that any blogger can do anything they choose (a point made by a number of irritated commenters on Phil Lees’s post earlier in the year that (rather inconsistently) flagged supposedly commercialised bloggers).

Bloggers develop specialisations, styles, or find themselves growing business ideas out of their blogs. Many have successfully achieved a respectful (to the readers) balance between their new business and the original goals of the blog. For many bloggers, there are also external commercial temptations along the way and each blogger has to work out how or to what degree they embrace that.

Some people believe that all commercial interactions are in some way “compromising”, but I think that’s both rigid and rather unrealistic. It’s possible to run obvious ads, for instance, without that affecting your own content (though I think it can degrade the perceived quality of a blog — see some US blogs, for instance, plastered head to toe in banners and commercial bling). It’s also clear that foodlovers can benefit from access to events and information that they might not usually get, even if this is in the context of marketing activity of some sort. Mild bias might be inevitable, but it’s unavoidable under any circumstance as a consumer anyway. Managing the bias is a more critical issue as a blog owner.

As the years have passed, some people have joined blog networks, such as Foodbuzz, only to discover that these were intended in no small part as revenue generators seducing bloggers into a sort of interdependence with niche advertisers. And others have joined ad networks like the much mentioned Nuffnang, which is perhaps little different from Google as an display-ad provider, but has successfully persuaded many bloggers to compromise the integrity of their content by variously providing freebies for review, sometimes with editorial guidance, and arranging events or access to events where most bloggers feel obliged to write at least moderately positive things.

Meanwhile, PR companies have embraced blogs as genuine media participants and therefore fair game for a myriad of marketing approaches (Another Outspoken Female’s rants about this (1, 2) are excellent), but pay-for-attendance event invitations reveal that the respect is fairly limited.

At the same time, individual businesses and talentless PR people seek increasingly to manipulate blog readers by posting false or anonymous comments on blogs, willingly lying about their “genuine” nature, and too many bloggers let this happen (a fair proportion of such comments are quite obviously false, either through the wording or the technical info accompanying the comment).

Clean reputation matters, for everyone

Is all this a problem if bloggers and blog-readers get to choose what they write or read? Yes. There is an obvious risk that the hard-fought-for recognition of food bloggers as genuine and honest reviewers, writers or cooks is being directly undermined. Some bloggers who started to ride the PR gravy train have already reassessed their enthusiasm, becoming more careful in choosing the invitations or freebies they accept, and approaching reviewing opportunities with a far more critical eye. That’s a natural development, and I hope that trend continues.

Running advertorial content, sponsored reviews, or similar material can endanger the respect people have for your own blog, or for the whole spectrum of foodbloggers. Unfortunately, some comments on both Brian’s and Phil’s posts, show there are people who feel an entitlement to some sort of commercial reward for blogging or who will uncritically promote a product as long as it is a basic “fit” with their blog content, and I doubt they care if the scepticism they cause spreads to the large numbers of other bloggers. As the flattering PR attention increases, will we see a wave of blogging egos demanding privilege and special treatment? I’ve heard rumours that it’s happening here already.

Many bloggers have been trying for years to educate PR people about blogs, respectful engagement, and not filling inboxes with irrelevant rubbish. It would be a pity to see the public and mainstream media regarding foodblogs as untrustworthy PR mouthpieces, where previously the biggest battles were with restaurateurs who hated bloggers for telling the genuine everyday experience of a customer, and journalists who loathed the unedited and sometimes faster-to-the-news nature of blogs.

Will the good intentions and often noble goals of many foodbloggers be suffocated by tempations, egos, and the taint of careless commercialism? Many longstanding bloggers have been quieter than usual in the last six months, perhaps in part due to disquiet at the change in tone.

 


A note about my own sites:

I like reviewing stuff, and originally intended to do much more than I have over the last three and a half years. Only on very rare occasions have I received free samples or attended events, and usually they were too rubbish to write about. Nonetheless, I don’t oppose writing about things I discover as the result of recommendation or press release and genuinely find worth commenting on, but whatever the case, I review without fear or favour (which might also be why I’m rarely offered freebies;) ).

I deliberately separate most of my regular macaron-making announcements from the main Syrup & Tang site and RSS feed because I don’t expect my readers will want to wade through frequent commercial announcements. I think it’s a sensible, respectful approach which many other bloggers have also taken.

I own a book review website, The Gastronomer’s Bookshelf, and occasionally make announcements on Syrup & Tang about the reviews. The site was set up because there were so many crap, PR-driven book reviews out there. Blogs are particularly problematic, because most bloggers feel obliged to write positively about free books they receive (especially a problem in the US and UK). On The Gastronomer’s Bookshelf we tell all publishers that if they supply a book, they do so at their own risk, because we definitely publish critical reviews.

A note about comments:

Comments must be respectful and constructive, whether agreeing or disagreeing. There is no right to comment (this is my website), but most comments are usually published after checking. Anonymous comments for publication can be emailed directly to me (you have to identify yourself to me, but request public anonymity, with a good reason). Private emails which are rude to me might be published.

The flexible macaron Top 20 and why I’m off it

Many people have asked me why I’m not participating in the Melbourne Macaron competition, I’ve decided I have to write this article explaining my perspective. Despite my criticisms, please note that I do hope that event turns out to be fun and successful.

Mystery

Was it poor execution or a cynical PR-thing? First, Twitterers noticed they were being followed by @eatmacarons, a new account that announced the impending revelation of the “top 20” Melbourne macaron establishments and a competition event in October. The account profile pointed to a website “coming soon”. No identification of who was behind the list or the event. Nix. Tantalising tweets went out, tweet-incentives too (free tickets). Still no uncloaking of the organisers.

To me, it smelled like yet another public relations game among the many now playing in the food-internet/blog-world. Managing to follow over 1000 people on Twitter in less than a month is seriously impressive. After some technical research, I discovered that this “Food Designer” was behind it.

On the Sunday before the public announcement of her list, I got a call. (I don’t think out-of-the-blue non-crisis business calls on a weekend are polite, but clearly, telling me I was on her Top 20 list was so urgent that calling was absolutely necessary.) At the same time an invitation letter and entry form for the October competition arrived by email.

The Top 20 list was interesting (and still is). As someone giggled to me, “are there that many good macaron makers in Melbourne?” How did the list come about? As far as I can divine, personal recommendations to the organisers. (And I know who nominated me – thank you.)

Less than 24 hours later another organiser called asking me to verify my participation in the competition (the closing date was still four days away).

The invitation letter described the event as a “student-run initiative”, but the signatory to the invitation was the “Food Designer” Linda Monique Kowalski. She didn’t identify her business or that she (presumably) isn’t a student in this initiative.

Eventually, the website revealed that “A team of 15 volunteers directed by creative consultant & fooddesigner, Linda Monique, aim to promote this petit four as the next cosmopolitan cupcake.” Oh yay. It was still oddly unclear why the students/volunteers were involved (revealed only after I enquired directly to be a Melbourne University student entrepreneurship initiative).

Pay-to-play, and don’t read the rules

The letter informed me that a participation fee for the competition was due by Friday. $220 thank you. This sort of thing might be common in PR/industry competitions, but no thanks.

Reading on, the short set of competition rules finished with clause 6:

“Additional rules to the competition my [sic] be implemented by the Melbourne Macaron team”.

I see. So one agrees to compete and they can do whatever they want with the competition? Amateur or dodgy?

The flexible Top 20

I declined. So did Café Vue, it would seem. Both our names vanished from the “top 20” list tout de suite. We were promptly replaced with backups. I’ve just noticed that Baker D. Chirico is now also gone, replaced by Brunetti. And OMG ROFL the organisers even went so far as to purge their earlier tweets naming us on their list.


The website Top 20 list at the start, and today.


The Twitter feed for @eatmacaron seems to have suffered a deletion. Where’s no. 4? It used to be Café Vue.

There’s something inherently dishonest (or amateurish) in creating and publishing a Top 20 and then editing it post hoc to suit your needs. And it’s just a tad optimistic to assume every nominee would leap at the opportunity to compete (with or without a fee). There was no explicit linkage of Top 20 status and any requirement for participation in the competition (usually you’d name your flexible Top 20 after all the entry forms are in, if that’s how you want to play it).

I continue to hope that the lack of transparency and other issues are more due to inexperience than part of some ill-conceived marketing game, and that it can be a fun event for the participants in the end. I can see the attraction for others who might want a boost in business and I wish them success if they compete.

Finally, so that there aren’t any misconceptions, I don’t mind not being part of the event – while it was nice to briefly have been on the list, I chose not to be involved for the reasons above and events since then seem, for me, to have further justified that decision.

Soulless food: My Kitchen Rules

Yet another unreality food show has hit our Australian telly screens. My Kitchen Rules, where teams representing five states vie for the title of most-self-confident but not-quite-expert home entertaining maestros. People showing off to each other isn’t exactly my idea of fun cooking viewing, but hey, maybe there’s something to enjoy in it.

My arse.

The first episode surprised me with the ageist comments of some dinner guests (and co-competitors) about their advanced-middle-age hosts. So, like, wrinklies aren’t meant to be able to cook like pros? I wonder what granny might have to say about that…

The competitors, mostly 20-somethings, show a startling lack of humility (except for the lovely, warm Queensland sisters), but if the second episode is anything to go by (perhaps best subtitled The Guys Who Couldn’t), viewers might be in for more lashings of hubris and patchily competent execution. You know you’re watching quality TV when overconfident lads have a range of high class restaurant chinaware on which to serve up their leathery ravioli, burnt pinenuts and (thankfully) excellent chocolate cake, all the while observing that their performance just wasn’t up to their normal standard (what does it take to boil your pasta to the right consistency when you’re competing for food show-offs of the year?).

It’s good that each pair is locked into whatever menu they submitted before the filming started, otherwise the strategic menu designing would perhaps lead to the last couple having a distinct advantage. But of course, that couple will still be able to correct some of delivery problems that the first two pairs have experienced.

Such a pity that the last couple (some episodes away yet) are the most putridly bitchy pair from Adelaide. May their custards curdle, their fish be dry, their spices stale and their dishes greasy. They seem to deserve little better.

We have yet to endure the we’re-perfect meltdown of the Perth team, and (I hope) a fine performance by the only people who seem truly nice: the aforementioned Queenslanders.

Something tells me that out there in high-end-food-mag-land there are in fact obnoxious people actually engaged in this sort of repulsive pseudo-culinary exhibitionism. I’m glad it’s been a long while since I’ve been to any such “event”.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in front of the telly happily, quietly, unexhibitionistically consuming a delicious plate of rigatoni with red capsicum, bacon and delicious naturally cured Victorian olives. Cooked by me for my tastebuds. Cooked for satisfaction, not show. Just like thousands and thousands and thousands of other foodloving people around Australia.

bowlofpasta

Now, if you want to see how really frightening these guests-to-dinner competitions can get, check out some of the mortifying episodes of the UK series Come Dine With Me on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfV9zQQvjAk (competitor 2 Val, part 1)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZGZmdXtKjw (competitor 2, part 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oL3_9Jz_rTI (competitor 4 Dawn, part 1)

And if that didn’t make your day, dear readers, nothin’ will! 🙂

Masterchef Australia’s macarons: bad crunch

Macarons should not be crunchy.

There, I’ve said it loud.

Every contestant in Masterchef Australia episode 61 had crunchy macarons. (Ok, except Andre, who didn’t have macarons at all.) The microphones captured the powdery crunch of their “Masterchef macaroons”.

Crunch is a result of dehydration. You achieve it in two ways:

  1. You cook them too far (and hey, the colour quickly tells you it’s happening unless you’ve coloured them strongly).
  2. You leave them to stand for hours before baking (great for reducing product loss cos the shells don’t break easily; not so good for retaining the subtleties of texture).

A good shell is crisp and fairly fragile. It should offer resistance to the teeth, but should not make crunchy sounds. In a bag of macarons transported carefully, it’s a miracle if some don’t break. Fragile. Understand? Not bakery-meringue robust. Not looking good after cutting with knife!

Some professional bakers in Australia should keep that in mind, as I’ve noted elsewhere before.

Contestants Poh and Chris did well to produce such visually attractive ones first time round. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t mind betting that this line in the recipe they used was what led them to overcooking the shells: “cook until macaron is able to be lifted from tray“. Ovens vary so much that this instruction is fairly pointless, especially for novices. My home oven would turn macarons to rusks if I had to wait until they lifted off the tray without coaxing.

UPDATE: Scroll down for another piece of silliness, discovered after publishing this earlier today.

macs_july

Australian Gourmet Traveller has a big fat French wank edition this month (some nice recipes, a little food wisdom). The front cover features pink macarons. Behold the following lines in their recipe (French meringue version, by the way):

gourmetmacrubbish

The first highlighted sentence is simply rubbish. The second highlighted sentence will most likely give you a nice, thick, powdery, crunchy shell. Delicious! Ha.

Sow stalls in Australia

I don’t think most Australians have any particularly awareness of the conditions for livestock animals in Australia. We hear occasional stories from overseas and can, of course, read books such as Fast Food Nation or The Omnivore’s Dilemma to get even more of an idea. We know that chickens lead an awful life in battery farms, but I imagine many people think “barn laid” and many other opaque terms indicate markedly better welfare for the chickens. Scepticism is, justifiably, growing.

But what of the cattle and pigs? The Guardian (one of very few traditional newspaper to have nurtured an intelligent food section into the digital age) had an article, The price of bacon, on January 6th describing the conditions of pigs in some European pig farms. The blurb for the article summarises the unpleasant content:

Pigs kept on slatted, concrete floors; pregnant sows in cages so small they can’t move; piglets castrated without pain relief; tails routinely docked to prevent animals attacking each other. This is the truth behind the European pig industry – and so behind most of the pork we eat.

It piqued my curiosity regarding the situation in Australia. It turns out, for instance, that sow stalls are in use here, and not only is there an RSPCA campaign against their use, but there’s also one of those de rigueur marketing propaganda sites, sowstalls.com.au, to explain why Australia should still use them. I love Issue Spin 101 paragraphs like

While several countries have moved to ban sow stalls or restrict their use, all Australians would agree that this country should make its own independent assessment based on sound scientific research, which meets our unique environment, cultural and geographical situation. (Link)

The site is completely silent about its authorship or affiliation, but a whois search reveals the owner as Australian Pork Limited. No surprise.

Now let’s just see how The Guardian describes sowstalls:

A sow stall is a narrow metal cage, on a bare concrete and slatted floor, in which pregnant sows spend all three months, three weeks and three days of their gestation. They can move a few inches back and forwards, but not turn around. Lying down and getting up is difficult, too.

I’m not particularly sentimental about animals which we eat, but I do get grumpy when people use weasel words to justify the mistreatment of those animals. I understand the economic imperatives of farming and food production. I know that there must be compromises where vast numbers of humans need food. I don’t think the final cents-per-unit should justify this sort of treatment.

I wonder if there are readers in Australia with close-hand knowledge of the treatment of food/farm animals in Australia? Is it generally better than some of the worst aspects of European or USAmerican farming described in books and the media?

The cruelties of good nutrition – or the day the broccoli came home to roost

The internet is full of conspiracies. The food world is full of oft-misguided fears. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my turn to contribute to the imaginative world of food conspiracies. I’m not talking about corn chips causing rubella or tofu causing homosexuality or crappy shiraz infused chocolate being unusually popular amongst bloggers… No! The military-industrial-vegetable complex is attempting a green coup.

I am disturbed, disturbed! An article in The Guardian late last year drew my attention to the existence of a list. A subversive, deeply disturbing list. A list with earth-shattering implications for my hitherto guilt-free diet of pastry and chocolate. As if we needed more proof that things haven’t been right in the United States in recent years, Yale University has developed an Overall Nutritional Quality Index. Suspiciously, it has been given a brand name… more evidence of commercial conspiracy!

The NuVal™ Nutritional Scoring System summarizes the overall nutritional value of food. It uses the Institute of Medicine’s Dietary Reference Intakes (quantitative reference values for recommended intakes of nutrients) and the Dietary Guidelines For Americans (advice from the Department of Health and Human Services, HHS, and the Department of Agriculture, USDA, about how good dietary habits can promote health and reduce risk for major chronic diseases) to quantify the presence of more than 30 nutrients – including vitamins, minerals, fiber, and antioxidants; sugar, salt, trans fat, saturated fat, and cholesterol. The system also incorporates measures for the quality of protein, fat, and carbohydrates, as well as calories and omega-3 fats. The NuVal™ System also takes into account how these nutrients influence health based on broadly accepted, published scientific literature. (Link)

Now, just look at their top items (top nutritional score is 100), as shown in The Guardian:

Broccoli 100
Blueberries 100
Okra 100
Orange 100
Green Beans 100

BROCCOLI?! Say what?! This is like a conspiracy with the parents of the world, forcing fuzzy green stuff down the throats of the innocents. My parents did it. My parents’ parents did it. Broccoli is an instrument of torture, not nutrition! I’m surprised cauliflower isn’t equal first. Oh look, it is… below is the more comprehensive list direct from NuVal. Brussels sprouts don’t get a mention, but I’ll bet they’re lurking in the background, ready to pounce.

Apricots 100
Asparagus 100
Beans (yellow and green) 100
Blueberries 100
Broccoli 100
Cabbage 100
Cauliflower 100
Kiwi 100
Lettuce (Green Leaf, Red Leaf & Romaine) 100
Mustard Greens 100
Okra 100
Orange 100
Spinach 100
Strawberries 100
Turnip 100

Just lucky I’m growing strawberries (100) to eat with my Rice Bubbles (23) and oats (88) with full fat milk (52) every morning!

Meanwhile, I thought asparagus was just a phallic joke of a higher being, causing smelly pee and crap supermarket produce disappointments in the process. But no! We should all be munching our way through green sticks, green leaves, green sticky things, green fruit, and TURNIPS. Sheesh.

Now a selection of the bottom-scorers (from The Guardian):

Dark chocolate 10
White bread 9
Salami 7
Hot dog 5
Cheese puffs 4
Milk chocolate 3
Apple pie 2
Crackers 2
Fizzy drinks 1
Popsicle 1

I am so offended. How dare these pseudo-scientists place chocolate, clearly the most important fully-rounded foodstuff (ok, it lacks a little in fibre), so thoroughly low down their list. Any nutritionist worth their salt (or miso) knows that chocolate has nothing in common with hot dogs or cheese puffs! Bah. Well, I’ve had enough of these sell-out scientists and their faddish enthusiasms for unspeakables. No doubt there’s some murky industry organisation in the background, funding their “research”. If I were a salami farmer or a chocolate breeder, I’d be talking to my lawyers (or funding better research).