In 1958, Mao Zedong launched the Great Leap ForÂward. Eight years latÂer, he announced the beginÂning of the Great ProÂleÂtarÂiÂan CulÂturÂal RevÂoÂluÂtion. Between those two events, of course, came the Great ChiÂnese Famine, and hisÂtoÂriÂans now view all three as being “great” in the same pejoÂraÂtive sense. Though ChairÂman Mao may not have underÂstood the probÂaÂble conÂseÂquences of poliÂcies like agriÂculÂturÂal colÂlecÂtivizaÂtion and ideÂoÂlogÂiÂcal purifiÂcaÂtion, he did underÂstand the imporÂtance of his own image in sellÂing those poliÂcies to the ChiÂnese peoÂple: hence the famous 1966 phoÂto of him swimÂming across the Yangtze RivÂer.
By that point, “the ChiÂnese leader who had led a peasÂant army to vicÂtoÂry in the ChiÂnese CivÂil War and estabÂlished the comÂmuÂnist PeoÂple’s RepubÂlic of ChiÂna in 1949 was getÂting old.” So says ColeÂman LownÂdes in the Vox DarkÂroom video above. Worse, Mao’s Great Leap ForÂward had clearÂly proven calamiÂtous. The ChairÂman “needÂed to find a way to seal his legaÂcy as the face of ChiÂnese comÂmuÂnism and a new revÂoÂluÂtion to lead.” And so he repeatÂed one of his earÂliÂer feats, the swim across the Yangtze he’d takÂen in 1956. Spread far and wide by state media, the shot of Mao in the rivÂer takÂen by his perÂsonÂal phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer illusÂtratÂed reports that he’d swum fifÂteen kiloÂmeÂters in a bit over an hour.
This meant “the 72-year-old would have shatÂtered world speed records,” a claim all in a day’s work for proÂpaÂganÂdists in a dicÂtaÂtorÂship. But those who saw phoÂtoÂgraph wouldÂn’t have forÂgotÂten what hapÂpened the last time he took such a well-pubÂliÂcized dip in the Yangtze. “Experts feared that Mao was on the verge of kickÂing off anothÂer disÂasÂtrous periÂod of turÂmoil in ChiÂna. They were right.” The already-declared Great ProÂleÂtarÂiÂan CulÂturÂal RevÂoÂluÂtion, now wideÂly known as the CulÂturÂal RevÂoÂluÂtion, saw milÂlions of ChiÂnese youth — ostenÂsiÂbly radÂiÂcalÂized by the image of their beloved leader in the flesh — orgaÂnize into “the fanatÂiÂcal Red Guards,” a paraÂmilÂiÂtary force bent on extirÂpatÂing, by any means necÂesÂsary, the “four olds”: old culÂture, old ideÂolÂoÂgy, old cusÂtoms, and old traÂdiÂtions.
As with most attempts to ushÂer in a Year Zero, Mao’s final revÂoÂluÂtion wastÂed litÂtle time becomÂing an engine of chaos. Only his death endÂed “a decade of destrucÂtion that had eleÂvatÂed the leader to god-like levÂels and resultÂed in over one milÂlion peoÂple dead.” The ChiÂnese ComÂmuÂnist’s ParÂty has subÂseÂquentÂly conÂdemned the CulÂturÂal RevÂoÂluÂtion but not the ChairÂman himÂself, and indeed his swim remains an object of yearÂly comÂmemÂoÂraÂtion. “Had Mao died in 1956, his achieveÂments would have been immorÂtal,” once said CCP offiÂcial Chen Yun. “Had he died in 1966, he would still have been a great man but flawed. But he died in 1976. Alas, what can one say?” PerÂhaps that, had the aging Mao drowned in the Yangtze, ChiÂnese hisÂtoÂry might have takÂen a hapÂpiÂer turn.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
The 2022 Oscar winÂner for Best PicÂture was CODA, a stoÂry about a musiÂcalÂly inclined girl with a deaf famÂiÂly. KamÂbri Crews, herÂself a CODA and author of a much darkÂer stoÂry about this called Burn Down the Ground, joins your PretÂty Much Pop host Mark LinÂsenÂmayÂer, writer Sarahlyn Bruck, and jack-of-many-intelÂlecÂtuÂal-trades Al BakÂer to talk about how deaf culÂture interÂacts with film.
Films tend to show deafÂness as tragÂic, which is not necÂesÂsarÂiÂly how the deaf comÂmuÂniÂty views themÂselves. We talk about balÂancÂing the demands of a stoÂry, how real life works, and the need for posÂiÂtive repÂreÂsenÂtaÂtion. Also, deaf bowlÂing!
In addiÂtion to CODA, we talk about The Sound of MetÂal, A QuiÂet Place, ChilÂdren of a LessÂer God, Mr. HolÂland’s Opus, See No Evil Hear No Evil, EterÂnals, DriÂve My Car, and more.
Note that this disÂcusÂsion was recordÂed in May but got bumped with all the shows wrapÂping up at that time and sumÂmer movies launchÂing.
CharÂlie ChapÂlin had many high-proÂfile fans in his day, includÂing some of the lumiÂnarÂies of the earÂly twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry. We could perÂhaps be forÂgivÂen for assumÂing that the writer and activist Hellen Keller was not among them, givÂen the limÂiÂtaÂtions her conÂdiÂtion of deafÂness and blindÂness — or “deafÂblindÂness” — would natÂuÂralÂly place on the enjoyÂment of film, even the silent films in which ChapÂlin made his name. But makÂing that assumpÂtion would be to misÂunÂderÂstand the driÂving force of Keller’s life and career. If the movies were supÂposÂedÂly unavailÂable to her, then she’d make a point of not just watchÂing them, but befriendÂing their biggest star.
Keller met ChapÂlin in 1919 at his HolÂlyÂwood stuÂdio, durÂing the filmÂing of SunÂnyÂside. This, as biogÂraÂphers have revealed, was not one of the smoothest-going periÂods in the comeÂdiÂan-auteur’s life, but that didÂn’t stop him from enjoyÂing his time with Keller, and even learnÂing from her.
In her 1928 autoÂbiÂogÂraÂphy MidÂstream, she would rememÂber that he’d been “shy, almost timid,” and that “his loveÂly modÂesty lent a touch of romance to the occaÂsion that might othÂerÂwise have seemed quite ordiÂnary.” The picÂtures that have cirÂcuÂlatÂed of the meetÂing, seen here, include one of Keller teachÂing ChapÂlin the tacÂtile sign-lanÂguage alphaÂbet she used to comÂmuÂniÂcate.
It was also the means by which, with the assisÂtance of comÂpanÂion Anne SulÂliÂvan, she folÂlowed the action of ChapÂlin’s films A Dog’s Life and ShoulÂder Arms when they were screened for her that evening. When Keller and ChapÂlin met again nearÂly thirÂty years latÂer, he sought her feedÂback on the script for his latÂest picÂture, MonÂsieur VerÂdoux. “There is no lanÂguage for the terÂriÂfyÂing powÂer of your mesÂsage that sears with sarÂcasm or rends apart coverts of social hypocrisy,” Keller latÂer wrote to ChapÂlin. A politÂiÂcalÂly charged black comÂeÂdy about a bigamist serÂiÂal killer bearÂing litÂtle resemÂblance indeed to the beloved LitÂtle Tramp, MonÂsieur VerÂdoux met with critÂiÂcal and comÂmerÂcial failÂure upon its release. The film has since been re-evalÂuÂatÂed as a subÂverÂsive masÂterÂwork, but it was perÂhaps Keller who first truÂly saw it.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
Damien Hirst is into NFTs. Some will regard this as a reflecÂtion on the artist, and othÂers a reflecÂtion on the techÂnolÂoÂgy. Whether you take those reflecÂtions to be posÂiÂtive or negÂaÂtive reveals someÂthing about your own conÂcept of how the art world, the busiÂness world, and the digÂiÂtal world interÂsect. So will your reacÂtion to The CurÂrenÂcy, Hirst’s just-comÂpletÂed art project and techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcal experÂiÂment. Launched in July of last year, it proÂduced 10,000 unique non-funÂgiÂble tokens “that were each assoÂciÂatÂed with corÂreÂspondÂing artÂworks the British artist made in 2016,” as ArtÂnet’s CarÂoÂline GoldÂstein writes. “The digÂiÂtal tokens were sold via a lotÂtery sysÂtem for $2,000.”
Hirst also laid down an unpreceÂdentÂed conÂdiÂtion: he announced “that his colÂlecÂtors would have to make a choice between the physÂiÂcal artÂwork and its digÂiÂtal verÂsion, and set a one-year deadÂline — askÂing them, in effect, to vote for which had more lastÂing valÂue.” For each buyÂer who choosÂes the origÂiÂnal work, Hirst would assign its NFT to an inacÂcesÂsiÂble address, the closÂest thing to destroyÂing it. And for each buyÂer who choosÂes the NFT, Hirst would throw the paper verÂsion onto a bonÂfire. The final numÂbers, as Hirst tweetÂed out at the end of last month, came to “5,149 physÂiÂcals and 4,851 NFTs (meanÂing I will have to burn 4,851 corÂreÂspondÂing physÂiÂcal TenÂders).” Hirst also retained 1,000 copies for himÂself.
“In the beginÂning I had thought I would defÂiÂniteÂly choose all physÂiÂcal,” Hirst explains. “Then I thought half-half and then I felt I had to keep all my 1,000 as NFTs and then all paper again and round and round I’ve gone, head in a spin.” In the end he went wholÂly digÂiÂtal, havÂing decidÂed that “I need to show my 100 perÂcent supÂport and conÂfiÂdence in the NFT world (even though it means I will have to destroy the corÂreÂspondÂing 1000 physÂiÂcal artÂworks).” PerÂhaps this was a vicÂtoÂry of Hirst’s neophilÂia, but then, those instincts have served him well before: few livÂing artists have manÂaged to draw such pubÂlic fasÂciÂnaÂtion, enamÂored or hosÂtile, for so many years straight — let alone such forÂmiÂdaÂble sale prices, and not just for his stuffed shark.
“I’ve nevÂer realÂly underÂstood monÂey,” Hirst says to Stephen Fry in the video above. (You can watch an extendÂed verÂsion of their conÂverÂsaÂtion here.) “All these things — art, monÂey, comÂmerce — they’re all etheÂreÂal,” ultiÂmateÂly based on nothÂing more than “belief and trust.” ReturnÂing to the techÂniques of his earÂly “spot paintÂings” — those he made himÂself before farmÂing the task out to steadÂier-handÂed assisÂtants — and mintÂing the results into unique digÂiÂtal objects for sale was perÂhaps an attempt to get his head around the even less intuÂitive conÂcept of the NFT. All told, The CurÂrenÂcy brought in about $89 milÂlion in revÂenue. More telling will be the price of its tokens on the secÂondary marÂket, where they’re changÂing hands at the moment for around $7,000: a price imposÂsiÂble propÂerÂly to evalÂuÂate for now, and thus not withÂout the thrilling ambiÂguÂiÂty of cerÂtain modÂern artÂworks.
Based in Seoul, ColÂin MarÂshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂterBooks on Cities, the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles and the video series The City in CinÂeÂma. FolÂlow him on TwitÂter at @colinmarshall, on FaceÂbook, or on InstaÂgram.
These womÂen’s conÂtriÂbuÂtions to the moveÂment were conÂsidÂerÂable, but KrasÂner and deKoonÂing spent much of their careers overÂshadÂowed by celÂeÂbratÂed husÂbands — felÂlow Abstract ExpresÂsionÂists JackÂson PolÂlock and Willem de KoonÂing.
The New York-based Abstract ExpresÂsionÂism deposed Paris as the cenÂter of the art world, and was the most macho of moveÂments. KrasÂner, FrankenÂthaler, and Elaine de KoonÂing often heard their work described as “femÂiÂnine”, “lyriÂcal”, or “delÂiÂcate”, the impliÂcaÂtion being that it was someÂhow less than.
Hans HofÂmann, an Abstract ExpresÂsionÂist who ran the 8th Street ateÂlier where KrasÂner studÂied after trainÂing at CoopÂer Union, the Art StuÂdents League, and the NationÂal AcadÂeÂmy of Design, and workÂing for the WPA’s FedÂerÂal Art Project, once praised one of her canÂvasÂes by sayÂing, “This is so good you would not believe it was done by a woman.”
Payne and Shurvell detail how the sociaÂble KrasÂner, already estabÂlished in the NYC art scene, shared imporÂtant conÂtacts with PolÂlock, with whom she became romanÂtiÂcalÂly entanÂgled shortÂly after their work was shown alongÂside Picasso’s, Matisse’s , and Georges Braque’s in the pivÂotal 1942 French and AmerÂiÂcan PaintÂing exhiÂbiÂtion at the McMillen Gallery.
She was an enerÂgetic proÂmotÂer of his work, and a cheerÂleader when he flagged.
They marÂried and moved to Long Island in an unsucÂcessÂful bid to put the kibosh on his drinkÂing and extracurÂricÂuÂlar affairs. He comÂmanÂdeered a barn on the propÂerÂty for his stuÂdio, while she made do with a bedÂroom.
While PolÂlock ranged around large canÂvasÂes laid on the barn floor, famousÂly splatÂterÂing, KrasÂner proÂduced a LitÂtle Image series on a table, someÂtimes applyÂing paint straight from the tube.
MoMA’s descripÂtion of an untiÂtled LitÂtle Image in their colÂlecÂtion states:
KrasÂner likened these symÂbols to Hebrew letÂters, which she had studÂied as a child but could no longer read or write. In any case, she said, she was interÂestÂed in creÂatÂing a lanÂguage of priÂvate symÂbols that did not comÂmuÂniÂcate any one speÂcifÂic meanÂing.”
After PolÂlock died in a car crash while driÂving under the influÂence — his misÂtress surÂvived — KrasÂner claimed the barn stuÂdio for her own pracÂtice.
It was a transÂforÂmaÂtive move. Her work not only grew largÂer, it was informed by the full-body gesÂtures that went into its creÂation.
Ten years latÂer, she got her first solo show in New York, and MoMA gave her a retÂroÂspecÂtive in 1984, six months before her death.
In a wildÂly enterÂtainÂing 1978 interÂview on Inside New York’s Art World, below, KrasÂner recalls how earÂly on, her genÂder didn’t facÂtor into how her work was received.
I start in high school, and it’s only women artists, all women. Then I’m at CoopÂer Union, woman’s art school, all women artists and even when I’m on WPA latÂer on, there’s no — you know, there’s nothÂing unusuÂal about being a woman and being an artist. It’s conÂsidÂerÂably latÂer that all this begins to hapÂpen, specifÂiÂcalÂly when the seat moves from Paris, which was the cenÂter, and shifts into New York, and I think that periÂod is known as Abstract ExpresÂsionÂism, where we now have galÂleries, price, monÂey, attenÂtion. Up ’til then it’s a pretÂty quiÂet scene. That’s when I’m first aware of being a woman and “a sitÂuÂaÂtion” is there.
Elaine de KoonÂing was an abstract porÂtraitist, an art critÂic, a politÂiÂcal activist, a teacher, and “the fastest brush in town”, but these accomÂplishÂments were all too often viewed as less of an achieveÂment than being Mrs. Willem de KoonÂing, the female half of an Abstract ExpresÂsionÂist “it couÂple.”
Great Art Cities Explained sugÂgests that the twenÂty year periÂod in which she and Willem were estranged — they recÂonÂciled when she was in her late 50s — was one of perÂsonÂal and artisÂtic growth. She took inspiÂraÂtion from the bullÂfights she witÂnessed on her travÂels, turned a lusty female gaze on male subÂjects, and was comÂmisÂsioned to paint PresÂiÂdent Kennedy’s offiÂcial porÂtrait:
All my sketchÂes from life as he talked on the phone, jotÂted down notes, read papers, held conÂferÂences, had to be made very quickÂly, catchÂing feaÂtures and gesÂtures, half for memÂoÂry, even as I looked, because he nevÂer sat still. It was not so much that he seemed restÂless, rather, he sat like an athÂlete or colÂlege boy, conÂstantÂly shiftÂing in his chair. At first this impresÂsion of youthÂfulÂness was a hurÂdle, as was the fact that he nevÂer sat still.
Like KrasÂner and Elaine de KoonÂing, Helen FrankenÂthaler was also part of an Abstract ExpresÂsionÂist goldÂen couÂple, but forÂtune decreed she would not play a disÂtant secÂond fidÂdle to husÂband Robert MothÂerÂwell .
This sureÂly owes someÂthing to her pioÂneerÂing develÂopÂment of the “soak-stain” techÂnique, whereÂin she poured turÂpenÂtine-thinned oil paint directÂly onto unprimed canÂvas, laid flat.
Soak-stain pre-datÂed her marÂriage.
After a visÂit to Frankenthaler’s stuÂdio, where they viewed her landÂmark MounÂtains and Sea, above, abstract painters KenÂneth Noland and MorÂris Louis also adoptÂed the techÂnique, as well as her penÂchant for broad, flat expansÂes of colÂor — what became known as ColÂor Field PaintÂing.
Like PolÂlock, FrankenÂthaler scored a LIFE MagÂaÂzine spread, though as Art She Says observes, not all LIFE artist proÂfiles were creÂatÂed equal:
The diaÂlogue between these two spreads appears to be a tale of socialÂly-deterÂmined masÂcuÂline enerÂgy and femÂiÂnine comÂpoÂsure. Though Pollock’s domÂiÂnant stance is a key part of his artisÂtic praxÂis, the issue is not that he is standÂing while she is sitÂting. Rather, it is that, with PolÂlock, we are allowed to glimpse into the intiÂmate sides of his torÂtured and groundÂbreakÂing pracÂtice. In stark oppoÂsiÂtion, Parks’ images of FrankenÂthaler reinÂforce our need to see women artists as highÂly curatÂed, polÂished figÂures who are as comÂplete as the masÂterÂpieces that they proÂduce. Even if those works appear highÂly abstractÂed and visÂcerÂal, each stroke is perÂceived, at some levÂel, to repÂreÂsent a calÂcuÂlatÂed, perÂfectÂed moment of visuÂal enlightÂenÂment.
We’re intrigued by Frankenthaler’s 1989 remark to the New York Times:
There are three subÂjects I don’t like disÂcussing: my forÂmer marÂriage, women artists, and what I think of my conÂtemÂpoÂraries.
For those who’d like to learn more about these three abstract painters, Payne and Shurvell offer the folÂlowÂing book recÂomÂmenÂdaÂtions:
ThirÂteen minÂutes was an awful long time for The Ramones, since they could play an entire album of songs in a quarÂter of an hour. Thus, when Ramones fan Mark Gilman snuck a Super‑8 sound camÂera into the GrenaÂda TheÂater in Kansas City in July of 1978 to secretÂly film the band, he manÂaged to capÂture an awful lot of The Ramones on film before he was forced to shut it down. The band, as you can see above, was in top form.
I exagÂgerÂate a litÂtle.… Ramones albums are longer than this film clip. Their self-titled 1976 debut is over twice the length at 29 minÂutes, which is still three or four minÂutes shy of the shortÂest LPs of the time (back when albums only meant vinyl). Into that almost-half-hour, the ultiÂmate 70s New York punk band crammed 14 songs, at an averÂage of two minÂutes each: no solos, no filler, no extendÂed intros, outÂros, or remixÂes.…
That’s exactÂly what we see above: mops of hair and a sweaty, leather-and-denÂim-clad wall of pure, dumb rock ’n’ roll, played blisÂterÂingÂly fast with maxÂiÂmum attiÂtude. It’s qualÂiÂty, audiÂence-levÂel footage of about half a clasÂsic Ramones show, which usuÂalÂly spanned around 30 minÂutes: no banÂter, chatÂter, tunÂing up, requests, or encores. This is what you came for, and this — full-on assault of bubÂblegum melodies, thudÂding chants of “I wanÂna” and “I don’t wanÂna” played with chainÂsaw preÂciÂsion — is what you get.
MusiÂcalÂly, songs like “Now I WanÂna Sniff Some Glue” were already in the band’s reperÂtoire, but the songs were plagued by erratÂic temÂpos, blown notes, and othÂer sortÂed sonÂic misÂcues. Between-song bickÂerÂing also marred the band’s earÂliÂest shows. For a secÂond, Dee Dee and TomÂmy seem like they’re almost ready to come to blows when they can’t agree on what song to play next.
“I didÂn’t like them at all,” MelÂnick rememÂbers. “It was pretÂty raw. They were stopÂping and startÂing and fightÂing. They could bareÂly play.” They didÂn’t meet a devÂil at a crossÂroads in the years between these earÂly gigs and their 1978 live album It’s Alive (recordÂed at LonÂdon’s RainÂbow TheÂatre on the last day of the year as the band finÂished a 1977 UK tour). They played a hell of a lot of gigs, and pushed themÂselves hard for a rock starÂdom they’d nevÂer realÂly achieve until their foundÂing memÂbers died.
AllÂmuÂsic’s Mark DemÂing describes the band in 1978 as “relentÂless.… a big-block hot rod thrown in to fifth gear” and calls their live album of the time “one of the best and most effecÂtive live albums in the rock canon.” Watch them play “I WanÂna Be Well” at the RainÂbow TheÂatre, just above, and catch a rare bit of stage banÂter from Joey regardÂing the preÂviÂous night’s chickÂen vinÂdaloo.
Dumplings are so deliÂcious and so venÂerÂaÂble, it’s underÂstandÂable why more than one counÂtry would want to claim authorÂship.
As culÂturÂal food hisÂtoÂriÂan MiranÂda Brown disÂcovÂers in her TED-Ed aniÂmaÂtion, dumplings are among the artiÂfacts found in ancient tombs in westÂern ChiÂna, rock hard, but still recÂogÂnizÂable.
ScholÂar Shu Xi sang their praisÂes over 1,700 years ago in a poem detailÂing their ingreÂdiÂents and prepaÂraÂtion. He also indiÂcatÂed that the dish was not native to ChiÂna.
Lamb stuffed dumplings flaÂvored with garÂlic, yogurt, and herbs were an Ottoman Empire treat, cirÂca 1300 CE.
The 13th-cenÂtuÂry MonÂgol invaÂsions of Korea resultÂed in mass casuÂalÂties , but the silÂver linÂing is, they gave the world manÂdoo.
The JapanÂese Army’s bruÂtal occuÂpaÂtion of ChiÂna durÂing World War II gave them a taste for dumplings that led to the creÂation of gyoza.
EastÂern EuroÂpean pelÂmeni, pieroÂgi and vareniÂki may seem like variÂaÂtions on a theme to the uniniÂtiÂatÂed, but don’t expect a UkrainÂian or RussÂian to view it that way.
Is the hisÂtoÂry of dumplings realÂly just a series of bloody conÂflicts, puncÂtuÂatÂed by periÂods of relÂaÂtive harÂmoÂny whereÂin everyÂone argues over the best dumplings in NYC?
Brown takes some mild potÂshots at cuisines whose dumplings are closÂer to dough balls than “plump pockÂets of perÂfecÂtion”, but she also knows her audiÂence and wiseÂly steers clear of any posiÂtions that might lead to playÂground fights.
Relax, kids, howÂevÂer your grandÂma makes dumplings, she’s doing it right.
It’s hard to imagÂine sushi masÂter Naomichi YasuÂda dialÂing his opinÂions down to preÂserve the staÂtus quo.
A purist — and favorite of AnthoÂny BourÂdain — Chef YasuÂda is unwaÂverÂing in his conÂvicÂtions that there is one right way, and many wrong ways to eat and preÂpare sushi.
He’s far from prigÂgish, instructÂing cusÂtomer Joseph George, for VICE Asia MUNCHIES in the propÂer hanÂdling of a simÂple piece of sushi after it’s been lightÂly dipped, fish side down, in soy sauce:
Don’t shake it. Don’t shake it! ShakÂing is just to be finÂished at the men’s room.
OthÂer takeÂaways for sushi bar dinÂers:
Use finÂgers rather than chopÂsticks when eatÂing maki rolls.
EatÂing pickÂled ginÂger with sushi is “very much bad manÂners”
Roll sushi on its side before pickÂing it up with chopÂsticks to facilÂiÂtate dipÂping
The temÂperÂaÂture interÂplay between rice and fish is so delÂiÂcate that your expeÂriÂence of it will difÂfer dependÂing on whether a waitÂer brings it to you at a table or the chef hands it to you across the counter as soon as it’s assemÂbled.
Explore TED-Ed’s Brief HisÂtoÂry of Dumplings lesÂson here.
Many of us avoid turnÂing on the oven durÂing a heatÂwave, but how do we feel about makÂing cookÂies in a Dutch Oven heaped with glowÂing embers?
JusÂtine Dorn, co-creÂator with othÂer half, Ron RayÂfield, of the EarÂly AmerÂiÂcan YouTube chanÂnel, strives to recreÂate 18th and earÂly 19th cenÂtuÂry desserts in an authenÂtic fashÂion, and if that means whiskÂing egg whites by hand in a 100 degree room, so be it.
“Maybe hotÂter,” she wrote in a recent InstaÂgram post, adding:
It’s hard work but still I love what I do. I hope that everyÂone can expeÂriÂence the feelÂing of being where you belong and doing what you know you were born to do. Maybe not everyÂone will underÂstand your reaÂsonÂing but if you are comÂfortÂable and hapÂpy doing what you do then conÂtinÂue.
Her hisÂtoric labors have an epic qualÂiÂty, but the recipes from aged cookÂbooks are rarely comÂplex.
The gluten free chocoÂlate cookÂies from the 1800 ediÂtion of The ComÂplete ConÂfecÂtionÂer have but three ingreÂdiÂents — gratÂed chocoÂlate, castÂer sugÂar, and the aforeÂmenÂtioned egg whites — cooked low and slow on parchÂment, to creÂate a holÂlow cenÂter and crispy, macÂaron-like exteÂriÂor.
Unlike many YouTube chefs, Dorn doesn’t transÂlate meaÂsureÂments for a modÂern audiÂence or keep things movÂing with busy editÂing and bright comÂmenÂtary.
Her silent, lightÂly subÂtiÂtled approach lays claim to a preÂviÂousÂly unexÂplored corÂner of autonomous senÂsoÂry meridÂiÂan response — ASMR HisÂtorÂiÂcal CookÂing.
The sounds of crackÂling hearth, eggs being cracked into a bowl, hot embers being scraped up with a metÂal shovÂel turn out to be comÂpelling stuff.
So were the cookÂies, referred to as “ChocoÂlate Puffs” in the origÂiÂnal recipe.
Dorn and RayÂfield have a secÂondary chanÂnel, FronÂtier ParÂrot, on which they grant themÂselves perÂmisÂsion to respond verÂbalÂly, in 21st cenÂtuÂry verÂnacÂuÂlar, albeit while remainÂing dressed in 1820s MisÂsouri garb.
“I would pay a man $20 to eat this whole plate of cookÂies because these are the sweetÂest cookÂies I’ve ever come across in my life,” Dorn tells RayÂfield on the FronÂtier ParÂrot Chat and Chew episode, below. “They only have three ingreÂdiÂents, but if you eat more than one you feel like you’re going to go into a coma — a sugÂar coma!”
He asserts that two’s his limÂit and also that they “sound like hard glass” when knocked against the table.
EarÂly AmerÂiÂcans would have gaped at the indulÂgence on disÂplay above, whereÂin Dorn whips up not one but three cake recipes in the space of a sinÂgle episode.
The plum cakes from the Housekeeper’s InstrucÂtor (1791) are frostÂed with an icing that RayÂfield idenÂtiÂfies on a solo FronÂtier ParÂrot as 2 cups of sugÂar whipped with a sinÂgle egg white.
“We sufÂfered for this icing,” Dorn revealed in an InstaÂgram post. “SUFFERED. Ya’ll don’t know true pain until you whip icing from hand using only egg whites and sugÂar.”
The flat litÂtle pound cakes from 1796’s AmerÂiÂcan CookÂery call for butÂter rubbed with roseÂwaÂter.
Those who insist on keepÂing their ovens off in sumÂmer should take a moment to let the title of the below episode sink in:
MakÂing Ice Cream in the 1820s SUCKS. “
This dish doesÂn’t call for blood, sweat and tears,” Dorn writes of the pre-VicÂtoÂriÂan, crank-free expeÂriÂence, “but we’re gonna add some anyÂway.”
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