Plus, answers to your questions, and, in today’s Recipe Corner: Herbed Parmesan Crisps! But first:

In the program book for the inaugural Pebble Beach Food & Wine festival this past weekend, there was a full-page bio on each presenting chef or speaker, and, on the facing page, one of their recipes. Nice. You had saddle of rabbit from this chef, rack of lamb with some kind of sophisticated confit or other from that one. But the very first recipe in the book, because of my extraordinary achievements in reality television (or maybe because I happen to enjoy the last name of Allen), was mine. In front of the greatest chefs in the country. And the very first ingredient in my recipe, for a puffy hors d’ oeuvre with prosciutto and fennel seed—a perfectly nice little nosh for, say, a Super Bowl party—was (drum roll, please): a tube of effing store-bought buttermilk biscuit

dough. From the refrigerator case. Heh, heh. In retrospect, I might have gone in a different direction. Like, say,

shooting myself in the face. Ah, well—it gave me a good anecdote for my dinner speech.

I knew it was going to be a great weekend. When I walked into the Inn at Spanish Bay, the first person to greet me, with his irrepressible grin and ever-present twinkle, was culinary legend Jacques Pepin. “I gave my seminar this morning,” he announced in that warm, buttered voice. “Now, I have only to have fun!” Seconds later, the tall, dark and handsome tornado that is Ming Tsai grabbed me in a bear hug. And then proceeded to converse with Chef Pepin—in immaculate French.

As the Monterey newspaper put it, you know you’re at a world-class event when even the most gifted chefs in America are standing in awe of the chef next to them. What’s more remarkable is that this was the event’s very first year, usually a near-certain recipe for confusion, if not outright disaster, and it was a smash hit. Big congrats to the organizers, Rob Weakly, David Bernahl and Gary Obligacion, and to their crackerjack team!

I mean, just look at this partial list of chefs: Charlie Trotter, Thomas Keller, Hubert Keller, Tom Collichio, Andrew Carmellini, Todd English, Gary Danko, Elizabeth Falkner, Joel Antunes, Ming Tsai, Jean Joho, Mark Miller, and on and on. When I first saw this list, it was such a stellar lineup that I worried that the organizers might be embellishing. I literally e-mailed Charlie Trotter to ask if he truly was involved.

Highlights: I didn’t get to attend any seminars, unfortunately, because I had too much work to do. But there was some play, too. Ran into Tom Collichio, my fellow G&T devotee, at the after-hours party on Saturday. As usual, I hung out with the lovely and talented Gail Simmons for a bit at the par-tay, too, serving as her “muscle” (ha) when one over-served gentleman plied her with fascinating repartee just a bit too long. Gail returned the favor by intro-ing me at my cooking demo, above, where I’m cooking fish filets in banana leaves, and hanging out to chime in here and there.

Robert Mondavi Winery unveiled its newest release, Continuum, as well as the exciting new line, Solaire. Delicious, as always. They also offered massages, which was a very valuable public service. Grand tastings are hard!

Elizabeth Falkner, of San Fran’s delightful Citizen Cake and her new joint, Orson (one of these days I’m going to ask why she’s so into Welles), graced the Grand Tasting with a magnificent shot glass full of warm, frothy, cardamom-spiced milk with a homemade marshmallow in it; soooo heavenly.

My friends Blakesley and Cyril Chappellet, of Chappellet Winery in Napa, poured their super-concentrated Pritchard Hill Cabernet—lip-smackin’ good. On Friday evening, they graciously included me in a small wine dinner at Christophers’s in Carmel, at which we tasted 21 stunningly beautiful wines, brought to the table by Master Sommeliers who are friends of the Chapps. Normally, I don’t let wine intimidate me, but when four of the 13 winners of the Cru Cup IN THE ENTIRE WORLD are pouring $800 shiraz for you and then asking your opinion, it’s a little scary! All good fun, that.

A very nice haiku from Deidre!

Today Ted cooks up
great food that makes him known to
all aspiring chefs

Ted replies: Awwww! Thanks, D!

And now, a question about “Iron Chef America” from Jim in Brampton, Ontario, Canada:

Ted: I'd hate to question the entire premise of “Iron Chef America,” but is the secret ingredient truly secret? And do they truly only have an hour?

Ted replies: Listen—this is “Iron Chef AMERICA,” capisce? Save your impertinence for “Iron Chef Ontario.” 

But, seriously: These are the two most-often asked questions about ICA. Let me say, as the person who has appeared as a judge many times, that the show is honest and lovable, and that the decisions are entirely the judges’. The producers do not interfere. Yes, the chefs have only and exactly one hour to cook, precisely timed and rigorously enforced. That woman’s voice you hear counting down the remaining minutes, along with the horn that blows when time’s up, are exactly what we hear in Kitchen Stadium during tapings.

And of course the secret ingredient is a secret!

Thanks for writing.

A haiku from Diana, a law student in Los Angeles, class of 2010:

Law and food. Two great
passions, mine. Aspire to be
"glam" chef's gen. counsel.

Oh, well—there’s more money in litigation, anyway. (Is “aspire” two syllables or three?)

Anyway, the real reason Diana writes is this excellent question:

“I'm a first-year law student and I was wondering if you could offer any tips on proper dining etiquette for a lunch or dinner interview. For example, it is always recommended that you follow your prospective employer's lead in ordering, since you do not want to order anything more expensive than they do. However, what should you do if they insist that you order first? (Which a lawyer might, since, in a way, he or she may be testing your ability to make critical decisions.)”

Ted replies: No, no, no. Do not follow that hackneyed, old-school, wussy job-hunting rule. You will facilitate mergers, acquisitions! You will take people down, you will make money even during Depressions, you will ensure freedom and justice for the falsely accused (and for the correctly accused, as long as they have cash)! You, Diana, will be a Master of the Universe.

As such, unless you are interviewing for a legal position with some lefty joint like the ACLU or the Nature Conservancy, you must order an enormous steak, bone-in, the more enormous, the better. And this steak must be rare. I mean, bloody. Eat every bit of it. Knaw the bone, too.

In point of fact, hardly any restaurant has anything on the menu that is so much more expensive than the rest of its fare that it’s going to offend your legal lunch date. Heck, she picked the restaurant. Order what you want.

You might pass on the caviar.

Thanks for your great question—and for your effort as a poetess! (Poetrix? Poette?)

Moving on, Recipe Corner brings you a cocktail snack: Herbed Parmesan crisps!

Makes 12 crisps

This is the easiest homemade cocktail snack you could ever imagine. Even better: It’s probably the most delicious one in existence—it’s salty, it’s cheesy, it’s irresistible. It’s basically a very cheesy cheese cracker; just a bit of shredded cheese baked with a tiny bit of flour and some herbs until it’s good and crispy. (It has the added advantage of making your house smell fantastic.) It’s also great-tasting and beautiful as an addition to a salad, especially if you’re brave enough to try this: The moment the crisps come out of the oven, while they’re still hot and flexible, try rolling them around the handle of a wooden spoon to form a cylinder. They’re also great looking left in their natural state of flat, irregular ovals.

1 cup finely shredded parmesan cheese, preferably Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 teaspoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary or thyme
1/4 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix all ingredients together in a small bowl. On a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, spread one-tablespoon piles of the mixture with a couple inches between each, and spread them out into ovals about four inches long and two wide. Bake crisps in oven until they turn golden brown, about 6 to 8 minutes. If not shaping them around a spoon handle, cool crisps completely on a metal rack.