Artefactual

Nakashima Dining Table pt 1 – Preparing the Cleats

Tassos — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 16:04:02 +0000

Last week I had some time to start working on the table. While Robert from Dikhout was preparing the stock for the posts and the stretcher, I went to work preparing the stock for the three cleats. First, I suppose, it would be good to get the terminology clear so we all know what we’re talking about. In the sketch on the right, the piece marked ‘a’ is the stretcher, the two pieces marked ‘b’ are the feet, the three pieces marked ‘c’ are the cleats, and finally the two pieces marked ‘d’ are the posts.

The final thickness of the posts and the stretcher (~80mm in both cases) is more than the thickness of the boards I bought, so they have to be laminated (glued up) from two pieces each. Robert is handling these in his shop. You can see some preliminary sketches on the board, indicating where these pieces will cut from, in the picture on the left. You can just about make out two pieces marked ‘a’, which will be squared, planed smooth, and glued up to create the stretcher, and four pieces marked ‘d’, which will make the two posts. More on those pieces next time. Let’s get back to the cleats for now.

The three boards of French walnut I showed you last time were just shy of being enough for the whole table. There will be a few offcuts here and there (for which I have interesting plans; more on that on another occasion), but there was no way I could come up with a way to find all the pieces I needed in those boards. Luckily, I happened to have just the right piece of walnut in my small stash of lumber at home. I purchased this a few months ago from Robert with other things in mind, but it will be perfect for the cleats and I am very happy I never got round to using it for something else.

The board was already cut in two pieces when I started working on it. First, the longer piece was cut across the grain into two pieces, then the shorter piece was cut to length to make the third cleat. This process is shown in the following sequence of six photographs, the last two showing the three rough pieces, cut to length. The middle cleat will be slightly shorter in length, mainly by necessity, but in hindsight a good decision anyway. The next step in the process is to rip (cut along the grain) the three cleats to final width and to square them up and smooth them, using handplanes.

Using the shorter of the three cleats to illustrate, first one of the edges is planed straight and smooth (first two photos below), then a line is scribed or drawn that is parallel to that edge and at the right distance, on the two faces. Then, it’s a simple matter of cutting to (or close to) the line with a handsaw (third and fourth photos), straightening and smoothing that edge with a handplane, and finally squaring and smoothing the two faces (photos five and six).

Repeat twice more for the other two cleats and you have a neat stack of three square and smooth pieces so you can start laying out the joinery and final dimensions. Speaking of stacks, check out the final photo below. It includes the parts that Robert prepared for me and I mentioned in the first paragraph of this post. These are pretty much all the pieces (except for the two feet) I need to put together the frame of the table. Time for some rest, now, however. Laying out joinery (not to say anything about cutting joinery) requires a clear mind. Thank you for visiting me here at artefactual.org. See you all next time.
.tassos

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Post tags: Dining Table, Nakashima, Woodworking

New Beginnings

Tassos — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 22:53:40 +0000

Well, there’s no hiding from the fact: 2012 is already here! The end of the world, if you’re into Mesoamerican calendars, the beginning of new and wonderful things, if you’re a “glass half-full” kind of person. For me, it’s the beginning of a project I have been cooking up for years.

As a woodworker, one of the people that have most influenced my way of thinking about and working with wood is George Nakashima. Nakashima was born in the Pacific Northwest, to Japanese immigrant parents. After studying architecture, he spent a number of years travelling in Europe and Asia, most importantly India and Japan. Upon his return to America, he settled in New Hope, PA, where he built his woodworking studio and raised a family. There, at the Conoid Studio, Nakashima created a unique woodworking style that became iconic.

One of the designs that Nakashima used to make (and his family continues to do so) is the Conoid dining table (one such example is pictured on the right, taken from Live Auctioneers, but there are many more in the wild, some of which you can see here). From the first time I saw one of these tables, 6 or 7 years ago, I knew I wanted to build one, so I have been carefully searching for the right opportunity. The opportunity finally arrived a few weeks ago, when all the necessary ingredients were in place.

First, I needed a large enough dining room for a 10-person dining table. No problem. We have just moved into a new house with ample space. Secondly, I needed walnut. Walnut wood, that is, and not just any old walnut, I needed two slices from a trunk that is at least 50cm in diameter, with the live edge (that is, the outer edge of the tree) intact. Oh and the slices would have to be consecutive, so I can open them up like a book to form the top. Is that it? Not quite; it also had to be thick enough (5+cm) and long enough for this table (~250cm). Well, those pieces (and then some!) were also found, courtesy of Robert Uenk at Dikhout in Groningen, by far the most exciting lumber purveyor in the area. Incidentally, Robert is an exceptional cabinetmaker. Check out his work here.

And so it begins. I am now the proud owner (with a somewhat lighter wallet) of three French walnut boards. Yes, three. Two for the top, one for the base (see below). Now for the small part of putting it all together. The work has already begun and I intend to document the entire process here, so stay tuned.

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Post tags: Dining Table, Nakashima, Woodworking

Sugar, butter, and salt: the three main food groups

Tassos — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 16:06:53 +0000

I really enjoy my work. I find teaching (and research) very rewarding, but sometimes the rewards come in mysterious and unexpected ways. One of the students I am working with spent some time over the summer in France, visiting friends. When she returned, she brought me a jar of salted butter caramel sauce from Brittany! Now THAT is rewarding.

Brittany, which is a peninsula in the northwest corner of France, is, of course, famous for its abundant seafood and excellent apples (and fermented, sparkling cider – more on that, another time), but the first thought that comes to my mind when I think of Brittany is butter; salted butter, to be precise. Breton butter is traditionally a cultured butter, which is to say a butter that likes going to the opera on Saturday evenings. Either that, or butter which contains naturally-occurring bacteria, very much like those found in yoghurt. The bacteria either find their way into the butter via a fermentation process, or, more likely these days, by the artificial inoculation with certain bacterial cultures. Either way, this makes for a fuller, more aromatic butter, with a lot more complexity than uncultured butter. And really… what distinguished gentleman wants his butter uncultured? As if this wasn’t enough, the Bretons often season their butter with salt harvested from their coasts. The result is an unapologetically rich and fragrant butter that features heavily in Breton cooking. It’s an indispensable ingredient in Gâteau Breton and Kouign Amann, both of which could be described without exaggeration as “instant coronaries”. So, you know they must be good.

Back to the caramel, then. The jar you see above disappeared more quickly than I care to tell you. Sophia had a tiny tasting on some bread, but all the rest was consumed by me. Most of the time as a simple spread on some fresh bread for breakfast, or as a makeshift dessert of sorts. And then, one day, it was gone. As suddenly as it arrived, so it disappeared, leaving me yearning for more. So what’s a man sans caramel to do, but cook some up. The process is fairly straightforward, yet fraught with dangers. Cook the sugar over too high a heat and the bottom burns, before the top has a chance to melt. Add the cream too cold and the caramel crystallises in a sharp mess. Did you add enough salt? Who knows; there’s no way to taste this lava, without burning your mouth and tongue. Still, as I said, the process is straightforward:

Take 100gr sugar (I use my homemade vanila sugar for this) and layer it in a large, thick-bottomed saucepan. Place this over low/medium heat and wait until it melts. Be careful not to let it catch. You’re looking for a dark blond colour, but for a richer caramel, wait until it turns auburn and it JUST starts to smoke. Do not stir, do not shake, do not even look at it with the intent to stir it: it will know and will crystallise faster than you can say “impossible crystals“. This process should take about 4 or 5 minutes. During that time, heat up 125ml of heavy cream. You can do this in the microwave or on the stovetop, but, either way, you want it nice and hot, so when it’s added to the caramel it doesn’t cool it down abruptly. Take the pot off the heat and stir the caramel/cream mixture until smooth, being careful not to get any of the superheated liquid on your skin. Add to this, 50gr of salted butter and stir again until it is incorporated. Let this cool down a little bit and then decant into lidded glass jars. It will keep for a month in the refrigerator, but, I prefer to keep it outside, so it is always the right consistency, always at the ready. Besides, in my house it never lasts more than a couple of weeks. I eat it on warm bread, on ice-cream, in crepes, and, sometimes, just on its own.

Enjoy,

Tassos

How to make a wooden spoon

Tassos — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 09:48:07 +0000

If you’ve been wondering how this spoon-making process actually looks, the following series of videos posted by Robin Wood should make things a bit clearer. He divides the process in 4 steps, each accomplished with a specific tool. Roughing out is done with a hatchet or small axe, further refining of the overall shape with a knife, then the bowl of the spoon is carved out with a hook knife, before the whole thing is finished with careful smoothing cuts.

- Tassos

Part 1: Axe

Part 2: Knife

Part 3: Curved Knife

Part 4: Finishing

Plovers

Tassos — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 11:17:22 +0000

When,

Heart overwhelmed with love,

I hurried through the winter night

To the home of my beloved,

The wind on the river was so cold

The plovers cried out in pain.

- Ki no Tsurayuki

photo from the Stanislaus Audubon Society

Royal Root

Tassos — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 20:37:55 +0000

We all know carrots as those adorable orange roots with the tufted green hairstyle and their promise of superhuman eyesight, but that’s not what they really are. Not what they used to be. In the grand scheme of things, orange carrots are very young. Only a couple of hundred years old. Babies! Still immature and infantile. If popular lore is to be trusted, carrots owe their sunny orange skin to 17th-century Dutch vegetable growers who wanted to honour the royal House of Orange and cross-bred various cultivars from the East and West, to achieve this bright orange carrot. Until then, carrots were anything and everything from white, to yellow, red, purple, and even black. It seems the orange ones were so fancied by everyone, that they became the standard and all other varieties withered into virtual oblivion.

Thankfully, their disappearance was not complete and we still have a number of cultivars with colours that are prettier than the fanciest flowers. These “heirloom” varieties are not just pretty in looks, but also in name, with varieties called Purple Dragon, Yellowstone, Lunar White, Atomic Red, and Cosmic Purple. How can you not take them out on a date? So I brought a bunch home with me yesterday, to keep company to a few wood pigeons that would be dinner. They were beautiful to look at and to cook with. Not to mention to eat.

It’s a real great shame that the diversity of our food has decreased so much. We have not only reduced the types of vegetables we eat to a handful (really, count the types you typically eat, it’s not that many), we have also basically reduced each type to a single variety. There are exceptions, of course. Potatoes still seem to enjoy a different, multi-varietal status, as do a few other fruits or vegetables, but if you consider what the possibilities are… it’s downright depressing. Have a look at the pictures of some carrot examples below and tell me you wouldn’t like a bit more variety… I know I would, so (wait for it, this one’s for you Martin) I’ll keep rooting for it.

thanks for stopping by today,

-Tassos

some images from The Sustainable Seed Co

The Epicurean lives!

Tassos — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 11:41:17 +0000

I have been wanting to get into food writing for a long time now, but somehow never felt the need; the time and place was never right. This changed this morning when the first article of a new food column for the University newspaper was published. The column is called The Epicurean and will be published once a fortnight. At least that’s the plan for now.

I have set up a page on this site where I will be collecting scans of the published articles, but if you like your information to come from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, you can visit the newspaper’s website (The Epicurean has a permanent link on the right hand side), or access the virtual version of the paper, here.

I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

-t

40th birthday

Tassos — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 16:26:48 +0000

Birthdays have never meant very much to me, but this one is special. One of the most important restaurant in the history of American cooking, Chez Panisse, celebrates its fortieth year. Chez Panisse, the brainchild of Alice Waters, opened its doors in 1971 and was almost single-handedly responsible for the birth, or at least the maturity, of California cuisine. With a focus on good-quality, fresh, local, and seasonal ingredients, California cuisine is not about complexity, but about simplicity. It is all about making the most out of the best ingredients, allowing their flavours to shine and to combine harmoniously.

I have had the pleasure of eating at Chez Panisse on a few occasions; indeed I happened to live right around the corner of the restaurant, in a neighbourhood called the Gourmet Ghetto, where the highest crime was serving or eating bad food. The experience was always wonderful and I still remember most of what I ate there, even though it was a good few years ago. To me, Alice Waters’s food philosophy makes perfect sense. Work with the farmers that produce your fruit and vegetables, the ranchers that raise the meat you cook, the foragers that pick the mushrooms and wild produce that is so precious. Together, work towards making sure that every meal you cook or eat is honest, important, a celebration. It is not complicated, nor expensive. That should be your standard.

To read some inside information about the 40th anniversary celebrations, have a look at David Lebovitz’s blog post here. David is one of the many and illustrious alumni of the restaurant and writes a great blog at http://www.davidlebovitz.com/. Alternatively, if you prefer the mainstream media, have a look here for a news roundup of the event.

-t

Models

Tassos — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 09:01:18 +0000

“I think it’s fun to dress up…”

Advanced Style: Age and Beautyfrom Ari Cohen on Nowness.com.

Can’t beet simplicity

Tassos — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 16:19:26 +0000

I’m certain that the news has reached you, no matter where you live, dear reader: Groningen is Hoofdstad van de Smaak for 2011! For those not blessed with the ability to understand Dutch, it means that Groningen is the Capital of Taste for this year. I can tell you’re a bit confused (if not bemused), so let me try to explain.

As of January, Groningen (the city and province) have been chosen to be in the national forefront of promoting healthy and tasty food. Throughout the year, various events and festivals will be organised, the highlight being The Week of Taste, in the beginning of October.

Now, I may, on occasion, be a tiny bit critical of the Dutch notion of good food, but I am always excited to see regional products being promoted and supported. The truth is that there is plenty of exceptional food in the Netherlands, but, as is true with other Northern European countries, food has traditionally been about sustenance, rather than pleasure (maybe it’s a Protestant thing). Unlike Southern European countries where joie de vivre is intimately connected to food (its preparation and its consumption), the North is only recently (relatively speaking) finding its way around local and international delicacies. But, history has never been my strongest subject, so, lest I offend even more people than I may already have, let’s focus on the present, and perhaps a bit on the future.

Part of the ongoing festivities is a recurring Ommelander Markt. The word ommeland, I am reliably informed, refers to the countryside surrounding the city (thank you, Hedderik), so the market features regional farmers and makers of various food products. A couple of weeks ago, some friends, the family, and I went to one of these markets and had the chance to taste and buy some of those local products. The stands’ offerings ranged from fruit and vegetables to baked goods, salami, and snails. We ended up buying some exceptional droge worst (“dry sausage”, basically a thin salame), some white-currant juice, and some candy cane beetroot. Very simple products, very well prepared, very much appreciated. When it comes to good food, the formula, I believe is: exceptional ingredients + simple preparations. You cannot beet that.

-T