Watch Werner Herzog Eat His Shoe, Cooked by Chef Alice Waters (1980)

Les Blank made qui­et, affec­tion­ate films about quirky sub­jects. Many of his films paid homage to the music and food he loved—The Blues Accordin’ to Light­nin Hop­kins and Yum Yum Yum! A Taste of Cajun and Cre­ole Cook­ing. Blank was a lover of many tra­di­tion­al Amer­i­can musi­cal forms. Some of his movies are the only known filmed doc­u­ments of artists who are now gone.

Blank died April 7 at his home in Berke­ley, Cal­i­for­nia. He leaves behind a cat­a­log of films that seem small but in fact take on the biggest sub­jects: human­i­ty, love, com­mit­ment, joy and indi­vid­u­al­ism.

In Gap-Toothed Women, Blank cre­ates a sin­gu­lar love let­ter to women who shun ortho­don­tics and embrace their diastema (the gap between the two front teeth). The film explores the ori­gins of the belief that women with this fea­ture are unusu­al­ly lusty (think of Chaucer’s “gap-toothed wife of Bath”) and ends up cel­e­brat­ing uncon­ven­tion­al beau­ty.

One of his most inter­est­ing works devel­oped out of an inside joke. Blank was a friend of the direc­tor Wern­er Her­zog. Her­zog, in turn, had men­tored the young film­mak­er Errol Mor­ris, who was mak­ing his first film, Gates of Heav­en. In a char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly dark attempt to be encour­ag­ing, Her­zog quipped that he would eat his shoe if Mor­ris com­plet­ed the film.

A man of his word, Her­zog lat­er ate the shoe in front of an audi­ence inside Berkeley’s U.C. The­ater. Food pio­neer Alice Waters cooked the shoe for five hours in gar­lic and wine. Blank filmed the event in 1980 and, true to his style, stepped back from the sub­ject and cre­at­ed a film about mak­ing hon­est art. You can watch it above.

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Vis­it her web­site: .

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Her­zog and Cor­mac McCarthy Talk Sci­ence and Cul­ture

Errol Mor­ris: Two Essen­tial Truths About Pho­tog­ra­phy

Por­trait Wern­er Her­zog: The Director’s Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Short Film from 1986

The Fine Art of Painting Portraits on Coffee Foam

Espres­so is his palette. Cof­fee is his medi­um. Wel­come to the artis­tic world of Mike Breach, a NYC barista, who painstak­ing­ly “paints” por­traits on lattes and cap­puc­ci­nos. After you vis­it Breach’s tum­blr filled with “Baris­tArt,” you’ll nev­er be quite so impressed by that heart-shaped design oth­er baris­tas pour onto your expen­sive foam.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: London’s First Cafe Cre­ates Ad for Cof­fee in the 1650s

Every­thing You Want­ed to Know About Cof­fee in Three Min­utes

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

David Lynch’s Organ­ic Cof­fee (Bar­bie Head Not Includ­ed)

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The Art and Science of Beer

Charles Bam­forth is the Anheuser-Busch Endowed Pro­fes­sor of Malt­ing and Brew­ing Sci­ences at UC Davis, which means he knows a few things about mak­ing beer. He can get into some nit­ty-grit­ty top­ics, like the enzy­mol­o­gy of the brew­ing process, foam sta­bil­i­ty, and the psy­chophysics of beer per­cep­tion. But that’s not what he’s doing here. In the clip above, the “Pope of Foam,” as Bam­forth is oth­er­wise known, gives you a quick overview of the beer-mak­ing process, describ­ing every­thing from grind­ing the malt, to boil­ing the wort, to bot­tling with glass ver­sus cans. Final­ly, the Pope gives you a hot tip: how to pick the fresh­est pint when you’re at a pub.

If you want to go deep­er into Bam­forth’s world, you can read his 2009 book: Beer: Tap into the Art and Sci­ence of Brew­ing. Or don’t miss this pre­vi­ous post where a Uni­ver­si­ty of Not­ting­ham sci­en­tist explains The Physics of Guin­ness Beer.

via Devour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wim Wen­ders Cre­ates Ads to Sell Beer (Stel­la Artois), Pas­ta (Bar­il­la), and More Beer (Car­ling)

How to Open a Wine Bot­tle with Your Shoe for the DIY Con­nois­seur

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

Storm: New Short Film Captures the Artistry of Winemaking

In many ways food—its pro­duc­tion, prepa­ra­tion and consumption—is the hottest art form today. Chefs are like celebri­ty auteurs, revered for their pas­sion and ded­i­ca­tion. We even watch real­i­ty tele­vi­sion shows about the dra­ma of com­mer­cial restau­rant kitchens.

The newest doc­u­men­tary by Daniel Addel­son puts anoth­er one of these artists in the spot­light. Addelson’s new film Storm fol­lows vint­ner Ernst Storm, a native of South Africa who makes wine in the San­ta Ynez Val­ley near San­ta Bar­bara, through a fall grape har­vest. The film is as earthy, bright and moody as the beau­ti­ful land where it is set. Storm tromps around his land in shorts and boots and a hat oper­at­ing fork lifts and hoist­ing pitch­forks full of grapes into huge tubs. We also see him in the lab, track­ing the chem­i­cal trans­ac­tions tak­ing place in his cur­rent batch.

The movie doesn’t shy away from the indus­tri­al side of wine­mak­ing, all the hoses and vats and stain­less steel casks.  But Storm’s voiceover reminds us that behind the heavy lift­ing is the dream of coax­ing some­thing plea­sur­able out of nature’s boun­ty.

Storm will pre­miere at the Sono­ma Film Fes­ti­val in April. Clock­ing in just over eight min­utes, Storm con­veys the hard work of mak­ing wine, the soli­tude and the fun. Most of all the film con­veys the craft’s artistry. The sen­su­al stuff—the smells and col­ors and flavors—are what dri­ve Storm’s affec­tion for process. He is dis­cern­ing and atten­tive. We see him climb­ing to the top bar­rel in a high pyra­mid, with a glass and a fan­cy turkey baster in hand. Remov­ing the big cork, Storm sucks out a bit and swish­es it around in his glass, then tast­ing it to see how things are going. Each vari­ety must be cared for, he says.

As a film­mak­er Addel­son isn’t mak­ing a com­mer­cial for Storm Wines. He’s inter­est­ed in the ingre­di­ents that make for a cre­ative person—the per­se­ver­ance, pas­sion and atten­tion to detail nec­es­sary to fol­low an idea through.

He will pick up this thread again in his next film, which looks at the ben­e­fits of teach­ing char­ac­ter to chil­dren in school.

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Read more of her work at .

George Martin, Legendary Beatles Producer, Shows How to Mix the Perfect Song Dry Martini

George Mar­tin knows some­thing about mix­ing. The Bea­t­les trust­ed him to mix their albums, decid­ing which ingre­di­ents to leave in, and which ones to leave out. (Take for exam­ple this lost gui­tar solo from “Here Comes The Sun.”) The record pro­duc­er, some­times known as the Fifth Bea­t­le, has taste. No one dis­putes that. So let’s let him mix us the per­fect dry gin mar­ti­ni and issue an amus­ing word of cau­tion. Hope you’re tak­ing care­ful notes.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William Faulkn­er’s Hot Tod­dy Recipe

Gui­tarist Randy Bach­man Demys­ti­fies the Open­ing Chord of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

Peter Sell­ers Reads “A Hard Day’s Night” in Shake­speare­an Mode

Do You Speak Java Jive?: The Language of the Indie Cafes

java jive

I haven’t fre­quent­ed Star­bucks for a long time, but when I did, I could nev­er get into their lin­go. Do you want a “grande,” the “barista” asked? No, just give me a medi­um, ok? And if I ever tired of the irri­tat­ing lin­go bat­tles, I head­ed to an indie cafe where sim­ple lan­guage made sense.

Nowa­days, you appar­ent­ly can’t bank on the indies for an escape. This week­end, The New York Times has a huge spread reveal­ing the pri­vate vocab­u­lar­ies of Amer­i­ca’s indie cof­fee bars, the places where you can now order “Cap­puc­ci­gos,” “Jillys,” “Kan­skis,” and a “Franken­caf,” along with some “Bert & Ernie,” appar­ent­ly the new way of say­ing cream and sug­ar. If you care to speak Java Jive, you’ll want to spend time with this spread. It’s almost some­thing we could add to our list of Free For­eign Lan­guage Lessons.

And now for some more cof­fee ran­dom­ness:

Every­thing You Want­ed to Know About Cof­fee in Three Min­utes

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: London’s First Cafe Cre­ates Ad for Cof­fee in the 1650s

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

Jim Henson’s Vio­lent Wilkins Cof­fee Com­mer­cials (1957–1961)

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

“Civ­i­liza­tion begins with dis­til­la­tion,” William Faulkn­er once said, and like many of the great writ­ers of the 20th cen­tu­ry — Ernest Hem­ing­way, F. Scott Fitzger­ald, James Joyce — the bard of Oxford, Mis­sis­sip­pi cer­tain­ly had a fond­ness for alco­hol.

Unlike many of the oth­ers, though, Faulkn­er liked to drink while he was writ­ing. In 1937 his French trans­la­tor, Mau­rice Edgar Coin­dreau, was try­ing to deci­pher one of Faulkn­er’s idio­syn­crat­i­cal­ly baroque sen­tences. He showed the pas­sage to the writer, who puz­zled over it for a moment and then broke out laugh­ing. “I have absolute­ly no idea of what I meant,” Faulkn­er told Coin­dreau. “You see, I usu­al­ly write at night. I always keep my whiskey with­in reach; so many ideas that I can’t remem­ber in the morn­ing pop into my head.”

Every now and then Faulkn­er would embark on a drunk­en binge. His pub­lish­er, Ben­nett Cerf, recalled:

The mad­den­ing thing about Bill Faulkn­er was that he’d go off on one of those ben­ders, which were some­times delib­er­ate, and when he came out of it, he’d come walk­ing into the office clear-eyed, ready for action, as though he had­n’t had a drink in six months. But dur­ing those bouts he did­n’t know what he was doing. He was help­less. His capac­i­ty was­n’t very great; it did­n’t take too much to send him off. Occa­sion­al­ly, at a good din­ner, with the fine wines and brandy he loved, he would mis­cal­cu­late. Oth­er times I think he pre­tend­ed to be drunk to avoid doing some­thing he did­n’t want to do.

Wine and brandy were not Faulkn­er’s favorite spir­its. He loved whiskey. His favorite cock­tail was the mint julep. Faulkn­er would make one by mix­ing whiskey–preferably bourbon–with one tea­spoon of sug­ar, a sprig or two of crushed mint, and ice. He liked to drink his mint julep in a frosty met­al cup. (See image above.) The word “julep” first appeared in the late 14th cen­tu­ry to describe a syrupy drink used to wash down med­i­cine. Faulkn­er believed in the med­i­c­i­nal effi­ca­cy of alco­hol. Lil­lian Ross once vis­it­ed the author when he was ail­ing, and quot­ed him as say­ing, “Isn’t any­thin’ Ah got whiskey won’t cure.”

On a cold win­ter night, Faulkn­er’s med­i­cine of choice was the hot tod­dy. His niece, Dean Faulkn­er Wells, described the recipe and rit­u­al for hot tod­dies favored by her uncle (whom she called “Pap­py”) in The Great Amer­i­can Writ­ers’ Cook­book, quot­ed last week by Maud New­ton:

Pap­py alone decid­ed when a Hot Tod­dy was need­ed, and he admin­is­tered it to his patient with the best bed­side man­ner of a coun­try doc­tor.

He pre­pared it in the kitchen in the fol­low­ing way: Take one heavy glass tum­bler. Fill approx­i­mate­ly half full with Heav­en Hill bour­bon (the Jack Daniel’s was reserved for Pap­py’s ail­ments). Add one table­spoon of sug­ar. Squeeze 1/2 lemon and drop into glass. Stir until sug­ar dis­solves. Fill glass with boil­ing water. Serve with pothold­er to pro­tect patien­t’s hands from the hot glass.

Pap­py always made a small cer­e­mo­ny out of serv­ing his Hot Tod­dy, bring­ing it upstairs on a sil­ver tray and admon­ish­ing his patient to drink it quick­ly, before it cooled off. It nev­er failed.

h/t The Migrant Book Club

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Artists Under the Influ­ence

William Faulkn­er Audio Archive Goes Online

William Faulkn­er Reads from As I Lay Dying

How to Peel a Head of Garlic in Less Than 10 Seconds

Ran­dom? Yes. Handy? Dou­ble yes. The ulti­mate culi­nary life­hack from SAVEUR mag­a­zine’s Exec­u­tive Food Edi­tor, Todd Cole­man…

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

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