Masterpieces of Western Art with All Gluten Products Removed: See Works by Dalí, Cézanne, Van Gogh & Others

Gluten Free Museum

left: Johannes Ver­meer, The Milk­maid. right: Arthur Coulet, d’après Johannes Ver­meer

It has been sug­gest­ed plau­si­bly that Ver­meer’s kitchen maid is mak­ing bread por­ridge, which puts stale bread—there is an unusu­al amount of bread on the table—to good use by com­bin­ing it with milk and a few oth­er ingre­di­ents to make a fill­ing mash or meal. 

Wal­ter Liedtke, Depart­ment of Euro­pean Paint­ings,  The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

It’s a mat­ter for con­jec­ture. Per­haps Ver­meer want­ed to title his paint­ing The Bread Por­ridge Maid, but caved to mar­ket research sug­gest­ing that Milk­maid would bet­ter appeal to what Liedtke calls “male view­er’s amorous mus­ings.”

Recent­ly, graph­ic artist Arthur Coulet made bread a focal point in Vermeer’s Milk­maid and oth­er icon­ic works, iron­i­cal­ly by Pho­to­shop­ping it out.

His online Gluten Free Muse­um is a nod to détourne­ment, manip­u­la­tions of exist­ing works born of Let­ter­ist Inter­na­tion­al and the Sit­u­a­tion­ists. Gone are the crusty loaves, fields gold­en with wheat, and any­thing con­tain­ing grains that could cause dis­com­fort to those afflict­ed by gluten intol­er­ance or celi­ac dis­ease.

Gluten Free Museum 2

Even the pitch­fork in Grant Wood’s Amer­i­can Goth­ic gets the dig­i­tal heave ho…with noth­ing to har­vest, what’s the point?

Gluten Free Museum 3

Pieter Bruegel’s the Har­vesters gets the most rad­i­cal redo.

Gluten Free Museum 4

Cezanne’s Still Life with Bread and Eggs is now just Eggs…

Gluten Free Museum 5

…and Sal­vador Dali’s Eucharis­tic Still Life has been reduced to mere fish­es.

Gluten Free Museum 6

By con­trast, the pic­nick­ers in Édouard Manet’s Le Déje­uner Sur L’Herbe prob­a­bly don’t even notice the omis­sion.

See more, includ­ing work by Jean-François Mil­let, Vin­cent van Gogh, Car­avag­gio, Giuseppe Arcim­bol­do, and Jeff Koons in Coulet’s Gluten Free Muse­um.

A quick image search using the phrase “bread paint­ing” sug­gests that much work remains to be done.

via So Bad So Good

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

What Hap­pens When a Cheap Ikea Print Gets Pre­sent­ed as Fine Art in a Muse­um

Sal­vador Dalí’s Melt­ing Clocks Paint­ed on a Lat­te

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Her play, Fawn­book, is play­ing in New York City through Novem­ber 20. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Falling Water: A Rube Goldberg Machine That Makes a Fine Cocktail

Joseph Her­sch­er, a kinet­ic artist from New Zealand, has a knack for mak­ing some pret­ty imag­i­na­tive Rube Gold­berg machines. Back in 2012, we showed you The Page Turn­er, a device that gives cre­ative assis­tance to any­one still read­ing news­pa­pers in a print for­mat. Next week, we’ll hope­ful­ly get a chance to fea­ture his most recent con­trap­tion. (Stay tuned for more on that.) But for now, as we head into the week­end, let’s admire The Falling Water, Her­scher’s cock­tail-mak­ing machine that plays on the name of a famous Frank Lloyd Wright cre­ation. You can watch it go above. And for those who want to play along at home, here is the recipe for the drink:

- 30mls (1Oz) 42BELOW Fei­joa Vod­ka
— Ch’i or Lemon­ade
— Long slice of seed­less cucum­ber
— Ice

Cut a long thin piece of cucum­ber on a diag­o­nal.
Rest it against the inside of a High­ball glass.
Fill the glass with ice, add 42BELOW Fei­joa.
Top with Ch’i or Lemon­ade.

Enjoy!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Tour of Falling­wa­ter, One of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Finest Cre­ations

The Page Turn­er: A Fab­u­lous Rube Gold­berg Machine for Read­ers

F. Scott Fitzger­ald Con­ju­gates “to Cock­tail,” the Ulti­mate Jazz-Age Verb (1928)

The New York Times Makes 17,000 Tasty Recipes Available Online: Japanese, Italian, Thai & Much More

My pile of night­stand books at the moment includes Tim Fer­riss’ The Four-Hour Chef (avail­able as a free audio­book here), a flashy tome meant in part to teach the sim­plest cook­ing tech­niques that yield high degrees of ver­sa­til­i­ty, impres­sive­ness, and deli­cious­ness. But its real inter­est lies in the sub­ject of learn­ing itself, and so it also cov­ers rea­son­able-invest­ment-high-return tech­niques for mas­ter­ing oth­er things, like lan­guages. As I read Fer­riss’ account of his own expe­ri­ence devel­op­ing strate­gies to quick­ly learn the Japan­ese lan­guage right next to so many pho­tographs of food and the prepa­ra­tion there­of, my brain could­n’t help but com­bine those two chunks of infor­ma­tion — and then pro­ceed to make me hun­gry.

I had a mind to go straight to Cook­pad, Japan’s biggest gen­er­al recipe site that we fea­tured back in 2013, when it had just launched an Eng­lish-lan­guage ver­sion. Now we have anoth­er rich recipe resource in the form of The New York Times Cook­ing data­base, an archive of 17,000 recipes, also acces­si­ble through its very own free iPhone app. Call up Japan­ese food, and you get a vari­ety of appeal­ing dish­es and sauces from the sim­ple and easy (chick­en teriya­ki, yak­iso­ba, egg­plant with miso) to the more elab­o­rate (squid sal­ad with cucum­bers, almonds, and pick­led plum dress­ing; and Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s fried sushi cakes) to the new-wave (miso but­ter­scotch, Nak­a­gawa’s Cal­i­for­nia sushi, and Japan­ese burg­ers with wasabi ketchup). Above, we have a video that accom­pa­nies the Yak­iso­ba With Pork and Cab­bage recipe.

Have a look around, and you’ll see that the site also offers a num­ber of use­ful func­tions for those who make a free account there, such as the abil­i­ty to save the recipes you want to make lat­er and a rec­om­men­da­tion engine to give you sug­ges­tions as to what to make next. But still, even though sites like these guar­an­tee that none of us will ever go hun­gry for lack of a recipe, we can only do as well by any of them as our actu­al, phys­i­cal cook­ing skills allow. For­tu­nate­ly, the Times also has our back on that: as we post­ed last year, you can get a han­dle on all of that with their 53 instruc­tion­al videos on essen­tial cook­ing tech­niques. And so we real­ly have no excus­es left not to learn how to make Japan­ese food — or any oth­er kind. As for all those lan­guages, now…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cook­pad, the Largest Recipe Site in Japan, Launch­es New Site in Eng­lish

53 New York Times Videos Teach Essen­tial Cook­ing Tech­niques: From Poach­ing Eggs to Shuck­ing Oys­ters

Michael Pol­lan Explains How Cook­ing Can Change Your Life; Rec­om­mends Cook­ing Books, Videos & Recipes

MIT Teach­es You How to Speak Ital­ian & Cook Ital­ian Food All at Once (Free Online Course)

Sci­ence & Cook­ing: Har­vard Profs Meet World-Class Chefs in Unique Online Course

How to Make Instant Ramen Com­pli­ments of Japan­ese Ani­ma­tion Direc­tor Hayao Miyaza­ki

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dating Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

Ecce panis—try your hand at the kind of loaf that Mel Brooks’ 2000-year-old man might have sunk his teeth into. Lit­er­al­ly.

In 1930 a loaf of bread dat­ing to AD 79 (the year Vesu­vius claimed two pros­per­ous Roman towns) was exca­vat­ed from the site of a bak­ery in Her­cu­la­neum.

Eighty-three years lat­er, the British Muse­um invit­ed Lon­don chef Gior­gio Locatel­li, above, to take a stab at cre­at­ing an edi­ble fac­sim­i­le for its Pom­peii Live exhi­bi­tion.

The assign­ment wasn’t as easy as he’d antic­i­pat­ed, the telegenic chef con­fess­es before whip­ping up a love­ly brown miche that appears far more mouth water­ing than the car­bonized round found in the Her­cu­la­neum oven.

His recipe could be mis­tak­en for mod­ern sour­dough, but he also has a go at sev­er­al details that speak to bread’s role in ancient Roman life:

Its perime­ter has a cord baked in to pro­vide for easy trans­port home. Most Roman homes were with­out ovens. Those who didn’t buy direct from a bak­ery took their dough to com­mu­ni­ty ovens, where it was baked for them overnight.

The loaf was scored into eight wedges. This is true of the 80 loaves found in the ovens of the unfor­tu­nate bak­er, Mod­es­tus. Locatel­li spec­u­lates that the wedges could be used as mon­e­tary units, but I sus­pect it’s more a busi­ness prac­tice on par with piz­za-by-the-slice.

(Nowa­days, Roman piz­za is sold by weight, but I digress.)

The crust bears a tell­tale stamp. Locatel­li takes the oppor­tu­ni­ty to brand his with the logo of his Miche­lin-starred restau­rant, Locan­da Locatel­li. His inspi­ra­tion is stamped ‘Prop­er­ty of Cel­er, Slave of Q. Gra­nius Verus.’ To me, this sug­gests the pos­si­bil­i­ty that the bread was found in a com­mu­nal oven.

Locatel­li also intro­duces a Flintston­ian vision when he alludes to spe­cial­ly-devised labor sav­ing machines to which Roman bak­ers yoked “ani­mals,” pre­sum­ably donkeys…or know­ing the Romans and their class sys­tem, slaves.

His pub­lished recipe is below.  Here is a con­ver­sion chart for those unfa­mil­iar with met­ric mea­sure­ments.

INGREDIENTS

400g biga aci­da (sour­dough)

12g yeast

18g gluten

24g salt

532g water

405g spelt flour

405g whole­meal flour

Melt the yeast into the water and add it into the biga. Mix and sieve the flours togeth­er with the gluten and add to the water mix. Mix for two min­utes, add the salt and keep mix­ing for anoth­er three min­utes. Make a round shape with it and leave to rest for one hour. Put some string around it to keep its shape dur­ing cook­ing. Make some cuts on top before cook­ing to help the bread rise in the oven and cook for 30–45 min­utes at 200 degrees.

For an even more arti­sanal attempt (and extreme­ly detailed instruc­tions) check out the Arti­san Pom­peii Miche recipe on the Fresh Loaf bread enthu­si­ast com­mu­ni­ty.

True Roman bread for true Romans!

via Metafil­ter/Make

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cook Real Recipes from Ancient Rome: Ostrich Ragoût, Roast Wild Boar, Nut Tarts & More

Ani­ma­tion Gives You a Glimpse of What Life Was Like for Teenagers in Ancient Rome

Build­ing The Colos­se­um: The Icon of Rome

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Emily Dickinson’s Handwritten Coconut Cake Recipe Hints at How Baking Figured Into Her Creative Process

Emily Dickinson Coconut Cake

The Emi­ly Dick­in­son Muse­um will tell you that “The kitchen appears to be one of the rooms where [Emi­ly] Dick­in­son felt most com­fort­able, per­haps most at home.” But the “many drafts of poems writ­ten on kitchen papers tell us also that this was a space of cre­ative fer­ment for her, and that the writ­ing of poet­ry mixed in her life with the mak­ing of del­i­cate treats.”

We still have access to Dick­in­son’s gin­ger­bread and dough­nut recipes. But if you want to see an exam­ple of how bak­ing nour­ished her cre­ative process, then look no fur­ther than Emi­ly’s recipe for Coconut Cake. The image above shows the ingre­di­ents scratched out in her hand­writ­ing:

1 cup coconut
2 cups flour
1 cup sug­ar
1/2 cup but­ter
1/2 cup milk
2 eggs
1/2 tea­spoon soda
1 tea­spoon cream of tar­tar

On the flip side of the recipe, Dick­in­son then wrote the begin­ning of a poem, “The Things that nev­er can come back, are sev­er­al” (read the tran­script here). Pre­sum­ably the recipe inspired the poem, but per­haps it was the oth­er way around?

rsz_2things_that_never_can_come_back_are_several

If you’re look­ing for your own source of cre­ative inspi­ra­tion, you can try out Dick­in­son’s recipes for Black Cake and also Rye and Indi­an Bread here. (Accord­ing to The Pub­lic Domain Review, “her loaf of Indi­an and Rye won sec­ond prize in the Amherst Cat­tle Show of 1856.”) And you can even head up to the Emi­ly Dick­in­son Muse­um in Amherst, MA and take part in their annu­al bak­ing con­test.

Over at NPR, Dick­in­son schol­ar Nel­ly Lam­bert has more on the poet­’s rela­tion­ship to bak­ing and food.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Online Emi­ly Dick­in­son Archive Makes Thou­sands of the Poet’s Man­u­scripts Freely Avail­able

The Sec­ond Known Pho­to of Emi­ly Dick­in­son Emerges

Watch an Ani­mat­ed Film of Emi­ly Dickinson’s Poem ‘I Start­ed Early–Took My Dog’

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Watch Glass Walls, Paul McCartney’s Case for Going Vegetarian

Paul McCart­ney became a veg­e­tar­i­an in 1975, thanks to his wife Lin­da, who cam­paigned for ani­mal rights before it became fash­ion­able, and lat­er wrote inter­na­tion­al­ly best­selling veg­e­tar­i­an cook­books. Decades lat­er, Sir Paul still remains com­mit­ted to the cause, encour­ag­ing peo­ple to skip eat­ing meat once a week — see his Meat­less Mon­days web site — and per­suad­ing fig­ures like the Dalai Lama to walk the walk. Above you can watch the Paul McCart­ney-nar­rat­ed film, Glass Walls. It works on his the­o­ry that “if slaugh­ter­hous­es had glass walls, every­one would be veg­e­tar­i­an.” That is, if you saw how most every car­niv­o­rous meal starts with absurd amounts of suf­fer­ing suf­fer­ing, you might ques­tion whether you per­son­al­ly want to sup­port this.

Glass Walls will be added to our list of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

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F. Scott Fitzgerald Conjugates “to Cocktail,” the Ultimate Jazz-Age Verb (1928)

fitzgerald conguates cocktail

I reg­u­lar­ly meet up with speak­ing part­ners who help me learn their lan­guages in exchange for my help­ing them learn Eng­lish. Even though they usu­al­ly speak much bet­ter Eng­lish already than I speak Kore­an, Span­ish, Japan­ese, or what have you, I often feel like I’ve got the heav­ier end of the job. Why? Because the Eng­lish lan­guage, for all its advan­tages — its glob­al reach, the ease with which it incor­po­rates for­eign terms and neol­o­gisms, its wealth of descrip­tive pos­si­bil­i­ty — has the major dis­ad­van­tage of sel­dom mak­ing imme­di­ate sense.

From Eng­lish’s great flex­i­bil­i­ty flows great frus­tra­tion: how many times have for­eign friends put up a piece of text to me — often from respect­ed, canon­i­cal works of Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture — and demand­ed an expla­na­tion? They’ve usu­al­ly stum­bled over some obscure usage that qual­i­fies as at least unortho­dox and per­haps down­right ungram­mat­i­cal, but nonethe­less intu­itive­ly under­stand­able — if only to a native speak­er like me. Here we have one exam­ple of just such a lin­guis­tic inven­tion refined by no less a respect­ed, canon­i­cal writer than F. Scott Fitzger­ald: the verb “to cock­tail.”

“As ‘cock­tail,’ so I gath­er, has become a verb, it ought to be con­ju­gat­ed at least once,” wrote the author of The Great Gats­by in a 1928 let­ter to Blanche Knopf, the wife of pub­lish­er Alfred A. Knopf. Who bet­ter to first lay out its full con­ju­ga­tion than the man who, as the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter puts it, “gave the Jazz Age its name”? Giv­en that his fame “was for many years based less on his work than his personality—the soci­ety play­boy, the speakeasy alco­holic whose career had end­ed in ‘crack-up,’ the bril­liant young writer whose ear­ly lit­er­ary suc­cess seemed to make his life some­thing of a roman­tic idyll,” he found him­self well placed to offer the lan­guage a new “taste of Roar­ing Twen­ties excess.”

And so Fitzger­ald breaks it down:

Present: I cock­tail, thou cock­tail, we cock­tail, you cock­tail, they cock­tail.

Imper­fect: I was cock­tail­ing.

Per­fect or past def­i­nite: I cock­tailed.

Past per­fect: I have cock­tailed.

Con­di­tion­al: I might have cock­tailed.

Plu­per­fect: I had cock­tailed.

Sub­junc­tive: I would have cock­tailed.

Vol­un­tary sub­junc­tive: I should have cock­tailed.

Preter­it: I did cock­tail.

If you, too, decide to teach this advanced verb to your Eng­lish-learn­ing friends, why not sup­ple­ment the les­son with the audio clip just above, a read­ing of the let­ter from the Ran­som Cen­ter? Lan­guage-learn­ing, no mat­ter the lan­guage, inevitably gets to be a grind from time to time, but vary­ing the types of instruc­tion­al media can help alle­vi­ate the inevitable headaches. And when the day’s stud­ies end, of course, an actu­al cock­tail­ing ses­sion could­n’t hurt. After all, they always say you speak a for­eign lan­guage bet­ter after a drink or two.

via the great Lists of Note book

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Drink­ing with William Faulkn­er: The Writer Had a Taste for The Mint Julep & Hot Tod­dy

Film­mak­er Luis Buñuel Shows How to Make the Per­fect Dry Mar­ti­ni

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 13 Pre­pos­ter­ous Ideas for Your Left­over Turkey

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Making Turkish Sand Coffee: Culinary Alchemy on the Streets of Jordan

There’s a lit­tle culi­nary alche­my hap­pen­ing in this video shot in Aqa­ba, Jor­dan. It involves cof­fee and sand. And “Broth­er Gantry” on Red­dit has it all fig­ured out. He explains:

He’s brew­ing cof­fee using tech­niques tra­di­tion­al­ly used to make Turk­ish Cof­fee...

Fill­ing each of those ves­sels (called a cezve) part­way is water, very fine­ly ground cof­fee, and pos­si­bly sug­ar. Because this is hap­pen­ing in Jor­dan there might also be a lit­tle car­da­mon in there and/or no sug­ar.

Nor­mal­ly to make prop­er Turk­ish cof­fee you heat it to a point where it just begins to bub­ble, but under a rolling boil, so it begins to foam up into the neck of the cezve before reduc­ing the heat and allow­ing the foam to die, repeat­ing the process 3 or 4 times before the mix­ture is poured into small cups (fin­can) and you’re left with a won­der­ful­ly strong, thick cof­fee with sus­pend­ed grounds which quick­ly set­tle to the bot­tom. Sand over a flame tra­di­tion­al­ly used in the process as a sort of “adjustable dou­ble boil­er” cups left on the sur­face stay warm and the heat used for brew­ing can be adjust­ed by the depth of the cezve in the sand with­out hav­ing to wor­ry about the tem­per­a­ture of the heat source itself.

The guy in this video seems to be mod­i­fy­ing a lot of the steps to make some­thing like a “reg­u­lar strength” cof­fee more the­atri­cal­ly using tra­di­tion­al equip­ment (e.g. he starts with much less ground cof­fee in the pot, judg­ing from the col­or to begin with, over­fill­ing it, not tak­ing time to let the foam die down but pour­ing out some the brew­ing cof­fee into a cup to reduce the lev­el, and pour­ing the results of a cezve made for sev­er­al cups into a nor­mal sized cof­fee cup instead).

Find more infor­ma­tion on mak­ing Turk­ish Sand Cof­fee at Secret Cof­fee Drinks.

via Digg

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: An Ad for London’s First Cafe Print­ed Cir­ca 1652

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