All posts by Crystal Cun

About Crystal Cun

Crystal Cun ate and earned her way through a master’s in Food Culture and Communications from the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Pollenzo, Italy. For one year, through March 2011, she was awash in a sea of olive oil, photojournalism and sustainable food production. Prior to this peripatetic European adventure, she worked in research at the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago and studied economics at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. At the moment, she is a student in the Culinary Techniques program at the International Culinary Center. She lives in Brooklyn, New York and works at W&T Seafood, a family-run seafood distributor specializing in premium oysters. Sometimes this requires abundant amounts of research with wine and oysters. She also works as a consultant for FRESH, an indie documentary about the farmers, activists and entrepreneurs who are reinventing our food system.

Wine Snobbery 101

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“Everyone has the ability to taste and analyze wine, you just need to have the vocabulary and focus to do it,” said Ann Noble, a retired UC Davis professor of Viticulture and Enology. With that, we launched into two days of Sensory Analysis classes, an overview of the sensory properties of wine (appearance, aroma, mouthfeel, flavor, aftertaste) and some of the psychological factors that influence the perception of wine. And though her appearance was unassuming, Noble turned out to be a colorful, crusty character full of dry, sarcastic comments such as “You just have a pinot fetish” and “You’re a prostitute when you’re a researcher because you need money!”

Indeed, Noble’s presentation on her research was impressive. Up till now, I had always been skeptical of professional wine tasters. First off, there have been lots of reports that wine ratings are inconsistent, even with repeated ratings from the same judges. Supposedly, lots of experienced wine drinkers can’t even tell red from white wine. Secondly, wine writers and aficionados tend to use ridiculously flowery languages to describe wines, like “Now, that’s a little girl from Morey-St.-Denis! A virgin. She needs to air a bit. Then we can all prod it, taste it and love it as we truly deserve, as God appointed us.” Yeah, okay.

Noble argued that wine experts who conduct labeled tastings are necessarily biased, and that results based on a few individuals are invalid. On the other hand, using a sensory panel of people trained to describe and quantify attributes of wine under ideal conditions (blind tastings, quiet room, no interfering odors) generates in statistically valid results. The panel provides objective, accurate and repeatable measurements. You can then use statistical techniques like principal components analysis to weight the importance of the descriptive variables, or partial least squares regressions to relate sensory data to chemical or consumer preference data. I am pretty sure the rest of the class was tuning out this section, but my inner stats nerd was in heaven. Who knew my stint at the Fed would be useful in oenology??
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On Food Writing

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Before you ask, no this isn’t a photo of me, it’s the daughter of a family friend, picking Asian pears in the orchard.

“People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating and drinking? Why don’t you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way others do?

They ask it accusingly, as if I were somehow gross, unfaithful to the honor of my craft.

The easiest way to answer is to say that, like most humans, I am hungry. But there is more than that. It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it, and the hunger for it…and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied…and it is all one.

I tell about myself, and how I ate bread on a lasting hillside, or drank red wine in a room now blown to bits, and it happens without my willing it that I am telling too about the people with me then, and their other deeper needs for love and happiness.

There is food in the bowl, and more often than not, because of what honesty I have, there is nourishment in the heart, to feed the wilder, more insistent hungers. We must eat. If, in the face of that dread fact, we can find other nourishment, and tolerance and compassion for it, we’ll be no less full of human dignity.

There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine drunk. And that is my answer, when people ask me: Why do you write about hunger, and not wars or love?”

-M.F.K. Fisher, Foreword to The Gastronomical Me

Temptation in the Garden of Italy

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My eyes alighted on it as soon as I stepped into the Coop grocery store, akin to spotting the love of your life from across the room. It stared openly back at me. Green, smooth, palpable. An avocado, delicately ripe, full of rich promise and culinary inspiration.

Danielle looked at me with chagrin. “Didn’t we just discuss the merits of eating locally grown food in class? How many air miles has that flown? Where is it from anyway?” I grimaced. “Italy? They grow avocados in the foothills of Piedmont, right?” We inspected the sign. Origin: Israel. Damn. I tried to rationalize. At least we’re not so far from the Middle East, compared to the United States?

I hesitantly placed the avocado back into the basket. But the avocado kept speaking to me. I’m creamy and delicious. Just think of how great I will taste in a salad with locally-grown, humanely-raised, free-range lettuce, tomatoes and olives. Guacamole. Remember how marvelous that Super Bowl guac was? You can recapture those memories with me. Mexican food. Sure, cilantro is nowhere to be found, and the fagiole section is completely devoid of black beans, but at least you can feast on the most important part of a burrito. Eat me. Do it.

I picked up the avocado again. Clutching it with both hands, I went back to Danielle and pleaded. “But I really want this avocado. Screw eating locally; if I can’t get American peanut butter, then I’m at least getting this avocado.” She threw up her hands in surrender. “All right, but I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.” No matter. Gleefully, I carried my forbidden fruit to the check-out line. My expulsion from the Garden of Eatin’ was complete.

Lunch, UNISG Edition

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In a previous post, I discussed what it was like to have lunch at the Fed, but there was no mention of the food, mostly because the Sodexo-run cafeteria, while competent and better than your average corporate cafeteria, mostly catered to the greatest common denominator and offered nothing of blogworthy interest.

Here at the University of Gastronomic Sciences, you can avail yourself of the midday meal service plan for €1000, and be assured a hot lunch every day that you are at school. For the first week of classes, everyone can dine at the canteen, which gives you a chance to try the food and determine whether or not you want to bring your own lunch instead. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but figured that this would be a nicer, more intimate version of Cornell’s dining halls (which were actually pretty good compared to the institutional slop served at most other universities). I definitely did not expect a 3 or 4 course meal, complete with full table service.

The canteen is housed adjacent to the chapel, and features lovely high ceilings with Tudor-style wood beams, fresh flower arrangements and round tables for ten. It opens at 12:15 pm and classes officially resume at 1 pm (though most of the time this doesn’t actually happen till 1:15 or so), which doesn’t give you a whole lot of time to eat four courses.
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Back Roads of the Italian Countryside, or My Daily Commute

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Note: This post is mostly geared towards UNISG students, so it will be fairly useless to you unless you need to get from Bra to Pollenzo.

Living in Italy, you start to realize that there are always two ways of doing everything, the official system and the back door in-the-know route. Take the process of acquiring a permesso di soggiorno residency permit, required for all non-EU citizens staying in Italy for over 90 days. In Bra, you can either go to the Post Office, pick up an application kit and struggle to figure out what to put down so as to not have your application rejected, or you can go to the Al Elka-L’incontro center for foreign citizens, which provides consulting services and staff who fill out the application for you. Granted, the center is only open for 7 hours a week, on Tuesday afternoons and Friday mornings, but that is different gripe. Ah, Europe.

Similarly, there are many ways to get from my apartment in Bra to UNISG campus in Pollenzo. There is a bus available and one of my flatmates has a car, but I have opted to make use of my bicycle and bike to class daily. This has led to some scary, ahem, entertaining rides to class, since intercity Italian roads strongly favor wide trucks and no shoulders. And so, I set out to find an alternate route to school besides the one suggested by Google Maps, and began exploring the back roads between Bra and Pollenzo. After a week of exploration, I had discovered a number of small dirt-lined roads, some of which were unpaved and lined with gravel (e.g. a bike flat waiting to happen), others which were just as crowded with traffic as my original route. Then Laura, one of my classmates, told me that she had learned the perfect route to get to campus from an undergrad student. Free of traffic and thoroughly paved? I jumped to follow her.
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Gastronomy School is Serious Business

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The view out the window from Aula 2, where we spend 6 hours a day in class

Classes at UNISG are held from 9 am to 4 pm, with an hour long lunch break at noon. Without too much self-incrimination, I will simply say that it has been a long time since I have had to focus so intensely, without the distraction of of the internets, on one subject for that length of time. This will require some adjustment.

There is no semester or quarter system in place, but rather, professors give lectures for a few days at a time whenever they are available (some are visiting from other universities) or periodically throughout the year. For the first couple days, we were lectured on traditional specialties from the various regions of Italy. The former yielded immediate payoffs as I went to the grocery store and began to analyse and recognise the breads and cheeses available here in the Piedmont region. Since we are in northwestern Italy in a cold, mountainous climate, the cuisine is characterized by robust dishes, the use of butter instead of olive oil (French influence), lots of antipasti, cheese and meat, and few pasta dishes. On Friday morning, one of my classmates brought in a couple local cheeses that we had discussed the day before, including a Bruss. This is a traditional Piedmontese cheese made by reusing the leftovers of different cheese that did not age well due to excess humidity or fermentation. You mix the cheeses into grappa (or wine or vinegar), and let it ferment, then beat it into a spread. Suffice it to say, I have had many very strong cheeses in my life, but this was the most intense, pungent cheese I have ever had, tart with the tang of fermentation. The hair on the back of my neck was raised, and you could see the noses wrinkle amongst my classmates. If I hadn’t known better, I wouldn’t have recognized the brus as cheese. American cheddar this was not. Unsurprisingly, Valeria (the native Italian) thought the brus was great.

We also had a lecture on the molecular analysis of taste, which is a throwback to high school chemistry class. Though people tend to simplify the perception of taste with a few adjectives (salty, sweet, earthy), there are chemical underpinnings for the way we taste foods differently, why sugar tastes differently than saccharine or aspartame. And there is still plenty of work to be done. For instance, we still haven’t pinned down the way miraculin (the protein in flavor-tripping miracle berries) works at a molecular level.
Continue reading Gastronomy School is Serious Business →