Soup and Bread

Brownstone Brooklyn Final 12 Hours

2008-09-24T23:18:00.004-04:00

One course of many. (This was from a Sausage Party we had last month. We don't always label our food.)

The Amateur Gourmet posted a fun scenario earlier this week -- it's your last 12 hours in [insert your city/town/neighborhood here]. What must you eat during these final hours if you could never, ever return?

I'll play. I'm going to narrow the focus from all of New York City to my beloved Cobble Hill/Carroll Gardens/Brooklyn Heights area -- Brownstone Brooklyn, if you will. If it were my last 12 hours here I wouldn't want to stray far from home; I'm a homebody, even in fantasy scenarios. And, while The Amateur Gourmet stuck to three proper meals, I think I would have more of a mini-meal tour. Also, he was remarkably restrained in his intake. I can pack it away even when the prospect of exile isn't an issue, so you better believe I'm not going to be dainty or "save room." There is always room. 'Tis a gift.

I would start the day with an unconventional breakfast of house-made warm pita, muhammara, and babaghanouj from Fatoosh. We always go months forgetting Fatoosh exists and then can't go a week without craving the muhammara, a tangy red pepper dip. They also (usually) make the best baba in the neighborhood.

Next, a chocolate cloud cookie for post-breakfast dessert from Tazza by way of Baked bakery in Red Hook. This cookie. Oh my, this cookie. It's actually the perfect hybrid of a brownie and a cookie. The staff at Tazza, especially the nice man who reminds us of Henry Gale from Lost, is probably used to the slightly obscene moans of pleasure we emit whenever we visit and savor one.

Then, to kill some time, I'll probably take a break and run my favorite loop -- down to 4th Place, up through Brooklyn Heights to the end of the Promenade, back down to 4th Place, home. Shower, water, time for more food!

Off down Court Street to one of the Italian bakeries that sell lard bread, which I talked about back during Thanksgiving. To review -- a slab of super-crusty bread, saturated with lard and studded with chunks of sausage. I'll buy a loaf and pick at it throughout the rest of the day.

Oh, Lily! Hellooooo, darling store. I love you, yes I do! I'll stop eating for a visit to buy one of, oh, EVERYTHING. That means you, sweater dress in the window. You're mine.

Then, off to Ki Sushi. Stick your nose in the air and giggle to your friends that I'm a clueless hick, but I have never had better sushi than at Ki, including a visit to Blue Ribbon. The tuna and salmon nigiri and sashimi are buttery perfection, the wasabi is worlds better than any neon green or even normal green paste all the other local places offer, and the ginger is a subtle treat all its own. A Sushi Deluxe platter, please.

Cocktail time is next. I'll go to Cubana Cafe for a mojito. I haven't sought out many of my beloved mojitos in my neighborhood, but they make a respectable one and would probably also put out a little plate of complimentary fried plantain chips and salsa. Score!

Finally, a small plate to finish off the day -- Potato Gnocchi, Oyster Mushrooms, Proscuitto And Mache from Chestnut. Pillowy bundles of dough and potato, crunchy proscuitto, earthy mushrooms...I daydream about this dish. The (formerly $25) $30 prix fixe dinner on Tuesday/Wednesday nights is one of the best deals in any borough -- any appetizer, any entree, any dessert. Tonight, though, the gnocchi will be enough.

A quick walk home, admiring my new Lily duds in the store windows as I pass. To bed, and then off to a new land where things will never be as lovely as they are here in Cobble Hill.

Ko Ko. Ko Ko Ko.

2008-09-23T00:02:00.004-04:00

Our meal this evening at Momofuku Ko, before I forget it.

Course 1:
Homemade pork rind
Black pepper biscuit (oh my, so buttery--lardy?--and good)
A fried nugget of black rice and pork belly

Course 2:
Sliced raw fluke over a pool of buttermilk and white soy, dusted with poppy seeds and chives.

Course 3:
Bacon dashi with sliced mushroom, zebra beans, and tiny black seed-things (we don't remember what these were. They tasted slightly mustardy. And like horseradish?)

Course 4:
Smoked, poached egg with caviar, sous-[something?? it sounded like he said bide. it wasn't vide] onions with sweet potato vinegar (who knew onions could be this good? better than caramelized, really), mini potato chips, and parsley

Course 5:
Sweet corn ravoli with charred corn, chorizo, lime zest, cojito cheese, and pickled red onions. This might have been our #1 savory course of the night, but honestly, that's like choosing a favorite panda child.

Course 6:
Seared scallop on a puree of pepperocini (!!) with bok choy, burnt onion marmalade. The pureed pepperocini was surprising and divine, especially with the sweet scallop and onion marmalade.

Course 7:
A huge mound of shaved foie gras over lychees, cubes of riesling gelee, and pine nut brittle. SO BIZARRE. As bizarre as it sounds. The foie gras was in a huge pile -- light and airy in the beginning but then it melted in your mouth.

Course 8:
Muscovy duck -- three parts, we think the tail, breast, and belly -- with Chinese long beans, mung beans, dried cherries, and water chestnuts

And then, 2 of the best desserts I have ever EVER had:

Course 9:
A small scoop of cantaloupe sorbet over a smear of cashew praline. Good god, it was simple and amazing. Salty and sweet. Jeff doesn't really care for cantaloupe and he loved it, as well.

Course 10:
This might be a contender for my favorite dessert of all time.

Side one of the plate--lightly pickled strawberries with peanut crumble
Side two--yellow cake ice cream (think an ice cream version of boxed batter) with shaves of peanut halvah
Middle--a generous smear of strawberry sauce

WORTH IT.

We decided against wine parings (you know, to be somewhat reasonable) and instead got a bottle of lovely 2005 Riesling Kabinett. Like the night, it was perfect. No, I don't remember the name. I'm in a food coma.

BTW, there were 8 empty seats. 3 different groups of people were no-shows. WTF? There were three (friendly, fun) chefs for the 4 of us there. We had the best night.

What's Your Cereal I.Q.?

2008-07-22T13:07:00.004-04:00

Working in the dining hall in college surely made this a little bit easier.

I got 15/20, and I'm both proud and also a little disappointed. I also have a hankering for some Cracklin' Oat Bran.

Weekends

2008-06-29T14:21:00.003-04:00

A day ahead with nothing to do. A DVR filled with unwatched episodes of The Daily Show, Good Eats, Niglella Eats, Jamie at Home. Jeff makes an 11am pot of Irish oatmeal, thick and chewy and hot. He takes his with honey and cinnamon. I sprinkle mine with mixed nuts, or eat it with a spoon heaped with a blob of peanut butter, the hot oats making it melty.

Oatmeal means we have the time to cook it and enjoy it. Oatmeal means laziness and happiness.

Must-Have Meals

2008-06-03T17:48:00.005-04:00

My life is filled with certainties. I’ll always reach for the sky blue version in the t-shirt display. If there is an R.E.M. record in a jukebox, I will surely play it. I would much rather stay home and watch Whose Wedding is it Anyway reruns than leave my apartment.

The same loyalties of course apply to food. Because the single thing I will not eat or drink in this universe is beer, anything goes. Beef, pork, seafood, extra-spicy, raw, creamy, fruity...bring it. I was lucky enough to marry a man who eats the same way (but with a beer on the side for him). Even so, we go gravitate toward certain dishes time and again. The following are our must-haves -- as in, “are you going to get it or am I?” Because one of us has to.

Merguez
I recently decided that if I were only allowed to chose one meat to eat for the rest of my life, it would have to be lamb. I love games like that.

If you’re dining with us, and spot this spicy lamb sausage on the menu, play the game of “which one of them will claim it first?” Bet on Jeff. While I always tend to peruse the rest of the menu just in case there’s something else I might want more (there isn’t), he’ll claim it and I’ll stamp my foot and demand that FINE, but he better let me share.

Pappardelle
I would marry this wide, flat, ribbon pasta if I could. Alas, a signed ketubah prevents me from doing so. I love how it acts as a canvas for sauce and cheese. This is a one-noodle-per-forkful pasta -- you really get to savor its texture and bite. Pappardelle highlights include Pappardelle with Chanterelles and Thyme on the Babbo tasting menu, Flat Pasta, Pulled Braised Rabbit, Graviera Cheese from Kefi and Pappardelle with Lamb Ragout at Noodle Pudding.

Octopus
We've had many octopus experiences, but two stand out as stellar. One was in Korea Town during a Korean BBQ-fest. We cooked chunks of raw octopus ourselves until it had the slightest char. Simple and delicious. The other was at Kefi again, the Grilled Octopus, Bean Salad appetizer. Octopus is a lot of things, but it's rarely tender. Yes, some are easier to the tooth than others, but never before had pieces been as yielding as these. Paired with chickpeas and a light, springy dressing, it's a dish I think about often.

Nicoise Salad
This one is just me, not Jeff. Crisp green beans, flaky tuna, silky egg white, mushy egg yolk, salty capers and olives, sweet tomatoes…the perfect mélange of textures and flavors. A good nicoise is the perfect salad.

Riesling
Yes, we like our wine to taste like kicky apple juice, and no I am not apologizing for that.

Banana pudding at Sugar Sweet Sunshine
When will we ever look right past trays of pumpkin, lemon, and vanilla cupcakes (the best in New York, no less)? Why, for The Perfect Dessert. I don’t want to know what’s in it or how they make it. The thickest, creamiest pudding you could ever imagine, starring soggy hunks of Nila Wafer and real banana. If we are within a 20-block radius of the Lower East Side, we are going. No debates.

My goal in life is to get better at calling dibs on ideal menu items. Jeff almost always orders better. I used to be Queen of Calling Shotgun, so I know I can rise to the challenge.

Peanut Butter Mashed Potatoes?

2008-05-29T12:24:00.003-04:00

I am seriously craving the "peanut butter mashed potatoes" that the awful Lisa concocted on last night's Top Chef. (Why won't she just get SENT HOME??) The main judges all thought it sounded absurd and I get the impression that it wasn't the best received combination (although the steakhouse guest judge raved about it), but I just CAN'T stop thinking about how great it would be to have a big bowl of warm, creamy peanut butter mashed potatoes. WANT. NOW.

Maybe I just want a big bowl of peanut butter that I'm allowed to eat with a spoon. PB Mashed potatoes are (somewhat) socially acceptable. Eating spoonfuls of Jif is not.

A Googler Wife's Banana and Chocolate Tart

2008-05-18T15:34:00.004-04:00

This morning, for the first time ever, I morphed into one of those people who comments on Epicurious! You know, those “this recipe was great, but I just decreased the amount of butter and added persimmons instead of blueberries and tossed some chopped raisins in because my son loves them and substituted half the potatoes with yams and cooked it in a round pan instead of a square one, but otherwise I kept it exactly the same” people? They’ve always existed in a land where confident home cooks live unbound by the written word of their recipes. I want to move there. But man, improvisation is scary.

For the past few years, I’ve been making Marcella Hazan’s Farmer’s Wife’s Pear Tart, which I read about years ago on The Amateur Gourmet’s site. It’s as simple as simple can be – mix your batter, chop up your fruit, stir, pour into a pan, dot the top with butter, and open your oven 45 or so minutes later to a thick, fruity pancake. More a thin cake than a tart, it’s fluffy but not doughy, and sweet but mostly due to fruit. I tend use less than an entire cup of sugar (rebellious!) and it comes out just fine.

Around the last time I made it, Jeff started talking about a banana dessert he had at work that day. My brain went, mmm, bananas. Mmm, bananas and chocolate. Mmm, bananas and chocolate in my pancake tart, maybe? Mmmm. And since that time, I’ve wanted to experiment. Would it work? (I mean, duh, of course it’s going to work. But I’m timid when it comes to culinary change, so bear with me.)

I made it this morning, subbing out the pears, replacing with three sliced bananas, some cinnamon, and a few handfuls of chopped semisweet chocolate. (Oh, how cavalier! “A few chopped handfuls.” I would hate me.) Dare I say it improved upon our beloved pear tart? It was gooey where it used to be a tad juicy, with chocolate chunk surprises throughout. A new staple is born. Playing with food is fun. Who knew?

Banana Chocolate Tart (adapted from original recipe by Marcella Hazan by way of Amateur Gourmet)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Butter and flour a 9-inch pan. I use a springform pan (thank you, wedding registry!), but any pan will do.

In a medium bowl, beat together 2 eggs and 1/4 cup milk. Mix in 1 cup of granulated sugar, 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, a pinch of salt, and a good shake of cinnamon (I think I put in about 1 1/2 teaspoons). Mix until combined -- this will be a little bit lumpy, but don't worry.

Slice three bananas into thin coins and chop up semi-sweet or dark chocolate and add to your personal taste. I added chocolate chunks until they were dotted throughout by batter but didn't overpower it. Much more banana than chocolate. Chocolate chips would work fine here, too.

Pour the batter into your prepared pan and smooth with a spatula. Chop up about 1/4 cup of cold butter and push butter chunks into the pan all over your uncooked tart. When you put the tart into the over, it should have butter polka dots all over the surface, slightly pushed in.

Bake for about 45-50 minutes, or until the top of your tart is light brown.

Serve warm, with vanilla ice cream!

Fresh, Local, and Organic -- Here I Come!

2008-05-06T15:27:00.002-04:00

I want to be one of those people who stops by her local farmers’ market when it’s open, buys what’s fresh and local, and cooks up an inspired dish for dinner. In my mind, I link myself with that crowd... nod knowingly when I read about the wonders of organic produce and quietly roll my eyes at people who buy wan tomatoes from Key Foods in the dead of winter.

Truth is, I’m a sham--a food elitist with absolutely no cred, what with my nightly takeout from Joya or a can of Amy’s Soup with toast. At least the pink tomato people cook. I can barely be bothered to warm up leftovers the next day.

There is a tiny farmers’ market right outside my Financial District office. This summer, I vow to stop by at least once a week, pick something that captures my fancy, and cook up dinner for me and my husband. Look out, honey, there’s asparagus in your future!

Better than Popcorn

2008-04-03T17:42:00.004-04:00

While I trust that the chefs on Top Chef Season 4 are talented, they certainly didn’t impress me with their imagination last night.

The task: create a six-course dinner, in which each course is inspired by “your favorite movie.” I think “your favorite movie” should right now be defined as “the movie of your choice,” because if the rules were strict, someone like Jeff would have to design a meal based on I [heart] Huckabees.

But hey, maybe they should have been strict. What would have happened has the contestants been asked to write down their favorite movies during the interview process, then been told the assignment? That certainly would have pushed their limits more than, “hmm, I like Vietnamese food – let’s make spring rolls that we can say were inspired by Good Morning Vietnam!” They might as well have picked The Godfather and served ziti. It would have been more appropriate.

The only imaginative dish of the night came from the team that chose Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory—they had the first course of the meal and created a salmon dish with wasabi, white chocolate and “caviar” made from tapioca. It was colorful, inventive, and apparently delicious…all a perfect capture of the movie.

I’ll play the game. Below is a short list with some of my favorites, and the meal I would create (or buy) to commemorate it.

Big Night: Duh. How did no one even mention this one? A perfectly cooked omelet on a plain white plate served beside a tear of baguette. Says more about the movie than the famous timpano, and is one of my favorite movie scenes of all time. Yes, Tom Colicchio would be all, “This is an embarrassment; you spent three hours on this?” But he can kind of be a dick, so who cares what he says? I’m going to play the game pretending this wouldn’t be presented in front of Judges' Table, okay?

Before Sunrise: Something that would make you linger. Something delicious and sweet…but casual. Something familiar. A picnic! Yes, a picnic basket with good cheeses, a bottle of wine, and a bar of dark chocolate.

Before Sunset: Well, definitely something French. And it would have to be a snack, since the entire movie takes place in the span of 85 minutes or so. A pain au chocolat with black tea.

Being John Malkovich: Oh boy. Something inside something else. I guess a turducken? Malkovich. Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich.

Reality Bites: Something cheap, and with coffee. If you make something purposefully greasy and a little gross would that be bad? If we’re really aiming to capture the movie, then diner food—floppy toast, greasy scrambled eggs, bacon, a side of weak coffee, and a cigarette.

25th Hour: Greasy takeout New York Chinese food, served with a shot of vodka.

Clueless: Colors! Too easy, but too fun not to mention. Vanilla cupcakes with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

Magnolia: Frogs legs. Lots of them. No side dishes. Plopped randomly all over a big plate. Done.

I Really Miss Those Cookies

2008-03-06T14:45:00.004-05:00

The best black and white cookies I ever had were at the lobby snack nook of Scholastic's Soho office.

There were hefty buggers, big bulks of cake rather than cookie. Each one must have had about 800 calories, each one of them delicious. The cake was very thick in the middle, not too dense, yet not spongy-light. It tapered off to perfect, lightly browned edges.

The best part was the icing (duh?). Oh man, I still daydream about that perfection, four years later! The white icing was super-thick and crackly. Nothing made me happier than to break it off in thick, sugary sheets. Soft white icing, you have no place in my heart. The chocolate icing wasn't as firm, but was far from gooey. Still, I usually left it on the cookie and ate it like a normal person instead of peeling it off.

I ate one every day. I'm not proud. Things in life weren't the rosiest then, and my daily B&W was my comfort, my happiness...the element of my day that brought with it nothing put sweet, sweet joy.

The cafe switched its breakfast pastries to its afternoon pastries at about 11 a.m. I'm not sure how or when I figured this out, but as soon as I knew the schedule, I would scamper down the stairs to the cafe at 10:59, greet the kind man who worked there daily, and pay my $1.25. He slipped my treat into a small paper bag with tongs (don't break the icing, don't break the icing). I ran up the stairs, spread a napkin in front of my keyboard, and basically went to my special place for about 10 minutes.

I really miss those cookies.

One day, however, not everything went according to plan. Restless and craving my cookie, I went downstairs at about 10:50. The croissants were still out. My friend, who had taken to getting my cookie ready and bagged right when he saw me enter, was standing idle behind the counter.

"Oh hi, um, are there any black and white cookies...?" I tried to sound shy, a little embarrassed. I attempted to offer a knowing glance, a c'mon, buddy, you know about my little problem, let's see if you can cut me a little slack, mkay?

"No, I haven't put those out yet."

I stared. "Um...okay? Are there any back there I can, just, y'know, grab a little early?"

"Oh no, I don't put those out yet."

!!!!

He wouldn't go to the back room to get me a freaking black and white cookie!? For real? For really real? Mortified, I slunk back upstairs and went without. I wasn't showing my face down there again.

I boycotted for a day. Two days later, I went down at 11:45 and, sans eye contact, asked for my freaking cookie. I didn't smile when he handed over my bag and change. It took me a while to smile again.
__________________________________________________

New York Magazine just released its annual "Best Of NY" issue.

Under the Best of the Classics section they give their pick for best B&W:

BLACK AND WHITE COOKIE
William Greenberg Jr. Desserts
1100 Madison Ave., nr. 82nd St.; 212-861-1340
The perfect blend of cake and cookie, WGJ’s version of this New York yin-yang icon is unbeatable—and the icing is never crusty.

Dude, crusty icing is THE BEST PART.

Oopa!

2008-02-25T21:14:00.024-05:00

Um, to my two faithful readers...sorry? Wedding, honeymoon, sickness, laziness, blah blah blah, I haven't posted, whatevs.

I am fully revved up to be a somewhat faithful blogger once again, for really real.

First, here's bridesmaid, bride-to-be, and eater extrordinaire, Haley, to tell you a little bit about our pre-wedding rehearsal dinner!

SPG is now SPP! But I could not do the wedding blogging-justice, and I would be sitting here crying my eyes out if I had to write about how happy and lovey the whole evening was. So the rehearsal dinner it is …

To get to the private room in the back of Symposium Greek Restaurant on 113th street between Amsterdam and Broadway, you walk through the dining room and then the kitchen. You emerge from the narrow kitchen into what feels like an outside patio. Trees shoot through the ceiling and leaves dangle overhead. Strung lights add to the outdoorsy feeling.

The tables were set with carafes of red and white wine and pitchers of sangria. Before being seated everyone roamed, grabbing a drink to take along. The sangria was a hit.

Once we sat down, the waiters brought out plates of family style appetizers and baskets of warm pita. We grabbed and passed the stuffed grape leaves, olives, yogurt sauce, eggplant dip, feta cheese and veggies. Delicious!

I had a little love affair with what came next. A huge shout of oopa! introduced bowls of flaming cheese. Dishes of perfectly browned, flaming cheese. It’s my new favorite food.

A squeeze of lemon puts out the fire before you can dip in with some pita or your fork.

The main course was a choice between moussaka, spinach pie, chicken kebabs and a lamb dish. My fork made the rounds and everything was great. But we had one thing on our minds. So Andrea worked her magic and scored us an extra flaming cheese. Oopa!

Father of the Bride: happily oopa’ing or in awe of our extra flaming cheese?

A strong Greek coffee and sweet and yummy baklava-type dessert followed. And then SPP gave her bridesmaids warm cuddly robes.

Stuffed and happy, there was more mingling and no one wanted to leave the cozy garden.

Way fun and total yummers.

Pizza That Lives Up to the Hype

2008-01-08T12:23:00.000-05:00

I obviously have been neglecting things here. To be honest, I pretty much plan to until sometime after January 20. No excuses, no apologies, just a whole lot of eggplant-colored ribbon, personalized M&Ms, and menu cards to sift through and not ruin before next Sunday.

In the meantime, Kimmy And has graciously volunteered her guest blogging services. Read on for an account of her trek to our fine borough.

After well over a year living in this fine food orgy of a city, some friends and I finally made the trek to Grimaldi's Pizzeria one Sunday afternoon. Nothing like a walk over the Brooklyn Bridge to work up a good appetite and an hour-long wait in the cold to push you over the line into ravenous hunger. Each time the door swung open, we were greeted with a small burst of intoxicating pizza smell. Finally, the hard-working man in charge of the line ushered us in.

You really get to know your fellow diners here, sitting practically elbow to elbow in a mid-sized room of red and white checkered tables. For the first few minutes we could do nothing but gaze longingly at the pizzas on nearby tables. Then we contemplated the toppings list and decided unanimously on mushroom, crushed tomato, and ricotta cheese. No one was even distracted by the calzone option - we were here for pizza, and pizza we would have.

The kitchen area is wide open, so we got an up-close look at the creation of these masterpieces before they slid into the giant coal-burning oven. The raw ingredients spread about the prep area pretty much blew our minds with how unbelievably fresh and delicious they looked. This picture unfortunately does no justice to the endless half-moons of mozzarella, the huge, gorgeous mushrooms, the piles of freshly grated parmesan.

When the pizza arrived not terribly long after, you could taste what a difference good ingredients make. Ambrosia. I literally chewed piece after piece with my eyes half closed in enjoyment. I'm not even a basil person usually, but I took exception in this case. The crust was doughy and supported the toppings well. The sauce and cheese melded into one delicious substance that I could gladly eat forever. I might have liked a little more mushroom, but I would never question the proportions chosen by these artisans.

After quickly and enthusiastically decimating our large pie, we of course wanted another. However, we decided to quit while we were ahead and head just down the street to the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory for dessert. As we stepped outside, the line had grown even longer, but we would never again question whether it was worth the wait.

Grimaldi's Pizzeria
19 Old Fulton St
Brooklyn, NY

Nuts

2007-12-18T20:47:00.001-05:00

When it comes to planning, I don't deal well with little loose frayed ends left flapping in the breeze. I like to keep the list of tasks I have to complete at any given time in a small tumbler in my head, which I then chant silently, all day, until said tasks are done -- "pay Sprint bill, send thank you card, buy shampoo, pay Sprint bill, send thank you card, buy shampoo." All in my head, all under control, I know what I have to do and I'll eventually get it done.

This method has proven ineffective when it comes to the gargantuan monster that is Planning a Wedding. I'm not going to get into it, because this clearly isn't the place and the topic really isn't of interest to anyone but me and the females who will be standing up there with me that day, but holy crap that little tumbler has been replaced by a huge bucket teeming with niggling little annoyances like, "buy light blue ribbon, call the veil store, get a marriage license, make seating charts, and more, and more, and more, and even more, and then maybe elope?" Thanks to Jeff, the Crazy only rears its head once every few weeks or so. Last night she peeked out and poked around for a bit, but we beat her back down. The trick? 30 Rock (obviously) and cookies.

When you're focusing on the steps involved in baking peanut butter cookies, you don't have the chance to obsess (unnecessarily) about whether or not everyone will get to the rehearsal on time or on the fact that you have no idea how to create place cards. The goal is a pile of cookies and that takes careful measuring, mashing, cracking, and beating. You then can take the massive pile of peanut butter dough and roll little packets into smooth spheres. Drop them into a mountain of sugar; toss it around. Carefully place the rounds onto your new silpat mat and press your fork into the top, indenting each with those classic lines.

Baking is like running for me -- a methodical way to get away from myself for an hour, to succumb to a rhythm that I don't use most hours of the day. I finished this batch of cookies last night at around midnight. The Crazy was behind me (for now), and in front of me was a huge pile of peanuty goodness.

This recipe, from the Gluten-Free Girl, is so simple and so fantastic. The cookies taste like solid peanut butter and nothing more. One change, though -- she says to bake them for 10 minutes, but every time I've made these they require about 15-20 minutes to solidify.

Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies

One cup creamy peanut butter
One cup white sugar
One teaspoon baking powder
One egg

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Cream the peanut butter and sugar in a bowl. (As much as I love my KitchenAid, I have found that this is a hand-stirring job). Beat in the baking powder. Add the egg. Mix until it is all well combined.

The dough will be sticky, so be prepared to get your hands messy. Roll some dough into a ball. (How big? That depends on you. I have found, however, that the smaller these cookies are, the better they hold together. Eat two instead of one!) Roll the ball into white sugar. Line a baking sheet, covered in parchment paper, with sugary balls of dough.

Bake in the oven for about ten minutes. You will know the cookies are done when they feel coherent, but still a little soft. Take the tray out of the oven and let the cookies rest for at least five minutes. Afterwards, carefully transfer them to a cooling rack. After ten minutes or so, they will have hardened and be glistening with sugar.

Fry Day

2007-12-10T16:21:00.000-05:00

The apartment still smells fried, and I assume it will for the next few days. My body is saturated with the after effects of consuming a diet of about 75% oily carbohydrates this weekend, but ‘tis the season, right? Hanukkah is our festival of crispy goodness. What perfect timing, seeing as how I have my final wedding dress fitting this coming Saturday in Florida. Whatever, I’ll take an extra kickboxing class this week and call it even. A bride that doesn’t like to eat is a lame bride.

We continued our holiday party-hosting with a Hanukkah bash on Saturday night.

The menu:

Snacks from Sahadi’s, including roasted, unsalted cashews (the BEST—the ones from Sahadi’s are huge and slightly sweet with the perfect texture), honey roasted peanuts, jumbo Greek olives, Jeff’s white bean dip (a tasty blend of Trader Joe’s olive oil, cannelini beans, rosemary, pepper, and salt), and Bulgarian feta cheese.

I think I like to host dinner parties so I get use out of the registry gifts we’ve received over the past year. I know Jeff was annoyed when I registered for 12 white ramekins from Crate &Barrel (6 small and 6 medium! What if I want to make mini soufflés!? Or what if I want to serve pudding to my guests, or dainty servings of ice cream?), but look how perfect they are for serving pre-meal munchies. Leave the hosting to me, buddy, you stick with the latke making.

Next, Jeff fried up some lamb meatballs, with mint, tzatziki sauce, and more of the Bulgarian feta. Simple and hearty. I will eat lamb any which way and will always love it. Hmm, that sounds evil, but I can't apologize. Discovering my love for lamb over the past few years has meant a whole new menu section to explore and love.

Next came the star of the event – the latkes with homemade applesauce. Jeff makes his latkes on the thin, crispy side, which I how I prefer mine. See how the thin bits of potato get all brown and flaky?

As people snatch their latkes off the plate, they leave behind a pile of crunchy strips, which I definitely make it my business to grab.

As for homemade applesauce, how incredibly easy. It’s not like I ever purchase applesauce, but that’s largely because it’s way too sweet and a tad oddly textured for me. Is it a dessert? A side dish? I’d rather have an apple and call it a day.

This recipe, courtesy of Mario Batali via Serious Eats, took all of 10 minutes, once the pesky apple peeling and coring business was finished. Take 8 apples, peel ‘em (annoying), core’em, and slice ‘em into 6 wedges (tres easy to do with my new, handy-dandy apple corer/slicer). Toss the slices into a big pot with two cinnamon sticks, the zest from one lemon, and 1/4 cup of orange juice. Stir, and walk away. Return 10 minutes later to find apple sauce. No joke. Just give the whole mess a big stir, and realize that you never need to buy a jar of Mott’s again. Maybe it’s mental, but something always feels cloyingly sweet about ANY kind of jarred or canned product—even when there appears to be no additives at all. Just make it yourself and feel all high and mighty – it’s tasty and it’s good for the soul.

Finally, my frying time came for dessert. We eschewed jelly doughnuts because Jeff doesn’t really like them and they seemed too daunting, anyway. Wouldn’t the insertion of jelly involve a pastry bag of some sort? Who has time for such fussiness?

Then we saw a few fritter recipes—mostly chocolate and apple—and hopped on that train. But what kind would be the most appealing? Out of nowhere, Jeff thought of banana fritters, which made me immediately giddy. Mmm, the fried exterior yielding to the soft, warm, creamy banana interior. And then I’d make a warm chocolate sauce for dipping! Yes, that’s what I would do!

I Googled around and found that with banana fritters, you can go the Jamaican route (simpler, only dough and banana) or the Thai route (the addition of sesame seeds and sometimes nuts). I wanted the former, so I took this recipe and substituted only banana (and then 2 bananas more than the recipe calls for) in place of the pineapple.

This was my first time frying, and I’m not proud to say that I might have burned a few fritters and ruined one of our news pans in the process. The blackened fritters still tasted yummy (exactly what I wanted—a crisp exterior with a doughy, banana-y interior!), and the pan might be fine after a good, hard scrubbing. See, I figured if you’re going to fry, you need your oil as HOT as possible. So I left the oil on high heat the whole time, which Jeff promptly corrected when we walked over after the smoke detector went off. Turns out things will fry even on medium-high heat, and will even turn brown, not black. Lesson learned.

The wine, friends, and family flowed and good was consumed by all. Next stop, New Year’s. Peppermint hot chocolate, anyone?

I'm thinking about Subway, maybe. Or Hale and Hearty

2007-12-05T11:28:00.001-05:00

11:24] jap60: oy, it's osso bucco in the caf today
[11:24] jap60: also braised lamb with pistachio ravioli and demi-cream
[11:25] jap60: and chicken tortilla soup
[11:25] jap60: and rice krispy treats
[11:25] sgordo01: jesus
[11:25] jap60: OR
[11:25] sgordo01: wow
[11:25] jap60: there is dim sum in the smaller caf
[11:26] jap60: with BBQ ribs and duck

How to Eat an Almond Cake in Three Days

2007-12-03T15:48:00.001-05:00

A few spoonfuls of (delicious, buttery, almondy, creamy) batter while I made the cake (Amanda Hesser's recipe from Cooking for Mr. Latte).

A slice or two each, for three of us, after it finished baking and cooling as we watched Crossing Delancey.

A slice or so each the next morning to tide us all over before brunch at Miriam.

A slice to snack on before dinner while watching DVRed “Best Week Ever.”

A slice with Fage 2% Greek yogurt for dessert after a simple dinner of tuna sandwiches.

A slice each, with friends, after a dinner of takeout Stage Deli while watching DVRed “Whose Wedding is it Anyway?”

Hosting is the Simplest!

2007-11-27T17:55:00.001-05:00

People who have lived with me before know that I tend to get a little bit…frazzled when it comes to throwing parties. I’m far from a perfectionist in my everyday life, but something in me always just wants to dazzle when it comes to entertaining. EVERYTHING. MUST. BE. PERFECT. There must be more than enough food, pretty-yet-quirky flowers peeking out of every corner, and the note-perfect playlist streaming from the speakers. I may or may not have woken up at 7am the morning before a Sunday potluck party at a house I shared with 5 (!) other women in Boston and made three huge pans of cole slaw and potato salad. Each single pan fed about 20, and we were expecting about 25 or so people total. You see, I might laze out when it comes to picking up my clothes from the floor and, say, writing my Thanksgiving post for my blog, but when it comes to feeding my loved ones I want to go above and beyond and do it 187% right. I guess it's the easy way of showing I care.

At this year's Thanksgiving, by far the largest dinner party I have ever helped host, I wasn't snappish and I wasn't bossy. I was just happy. For the first time ever, Jeff and I welcomed both sets of our parents (along with some dear friends) into our home for a holiday together around our table. It felt like a rehearsal dinner for our marriage, without the room filled with tons of bridesmaids and groomsmen and the stress of the Big Day to come. It felt like a snapshot of what our life will be together. It felt great.

We started cooking the evening before, after another stellar meal at Le Petit Crevette, with ANTM and Project Runway in the background. Jeff made a pot roast, substituting cran-apple juice for his usual apple juice. Seasonal! The end result the next day was a roast perfectly fit for a Thanksgiving table...sweet with that hint of cranberry tartness.

And speaking of cranberries, I made my very first cranberry sauce on Wednesday night. Alison's mom (a fab cook) sent me her recipe, which included a mix of cranberries, sugar, cloves, ginger, and cinnamon. I knew the palates of my Thursday-evening crowd, and I had a feeling that the clove/ginger combo might be a little too spicy and exotic for the majority of people. So, I kept her proportions and made a few tweaks. It turns out cranberry sauce is simple to make, and also very fun. Mix two cups of water with two cups of sugar and set in a pot to boil, mixing until the sugar dissolves. Next, add two 12 ounce bags of cranberries. Marvel at their gorgeous color and their shiny prettiness. So round! So festive! Then, the fun begins. Stir in the berries and listen to the soft "pop pop pop" as each berry bursts in the heat. Stir occasionally until about 15 minutes later, when this berry/water mixture has somehow magically become a sauce. At this point I added the ginger Alison's mom suggested, and then added two tablespoons of grated orange peel at the suggestion of a few other recipes I scrounged up on Epicurious.

The result wasn't groundbreaking...just simple, orangy cranberry sauce that went particularly well with...

We finally stopped eating these cornbread muffins yesterday. I didn't think making 24 muffins for 9 people was excessive, but I guess it might have been a tad overboard. I thought these were just okay, not fabulous. They were not sweet at all, which was good. It's not like I'm some Southern cornbread purist, ranting at the heathens who like their sweet cakey cornbread, but I tend to agree -- save it for the breakfast corn muffins. They were very dense. I don't know if this is how they were supposed to turn out or if this was a tiny baking snafu, but there was just no airiness or softness to each muffin. Jeff says he liked them, and I think he'd tell me otherwise, so I'm going to say that maybe this particular recipe wasn't to my exact taste. Next time I'll make cornbread in a pan (or on the skillet, as I did once), which could help with the texture issue.

My final Wednesday step was to make the cupcake bottoms for my chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, compliments of the Magnolia cookbook. These had different ingredients I'd ever used in a cupcake; buttermilk, brown sugar and regular sugar, and baking soda. I kept sneaking spoonfuls of the batter (again, I made enough for 24 cupcakes...which, ridiculous), which made for many, many more dirty spoons than necessary. The batter was SO creamy and delicious, which made me confident about the end result.

It's not like a chocolate cupcake is going to be all that bad, but the cake part of this recipe was sweet without being overbearing and had a texture that held up to big dollops of cream cheese frosting without being too dry. I frosted them right before dessert (cups and cups of confectioner's sugar, cream cheese, and butter -- yum). I now regret tossing the bowlful of extra frosting (the recipe made way more than enough). Well, maybe not. I could see that being a 9pm Thanksgiving night snack, which wouldn't have been the best idea.

My final contribution to the meal was a ginormous pan of apple crumble, served with vanilla ice cream. Yes, the recipe says it feeds 10 to 12, and yes, I did pretty much double this recipe for the 9 people present, but who wants to be at a party where there's not enough crumble to go around? I certainly wasn't going to be the one to go without, my hostess status be damned!

I decided to throw caution to the wind and keep the peels on my apples, because I like peels and that's where a ton of the apple experience comes from. I also substituted a few Gala apples in the place of Granny Smiths, but you couldn't really taste the difference once the apple slices were rubbed with cinnamon, brown sugar, and lemon juice. I poured oddles of oaty topping over the whole mess of apples (oats, butter, more brown sugar, flour) and then baked for 55 minutes until the apples were soft with melted butter and softened, sugary oats. Spooned over vanilla ice cream, this made for a good meal ender.

Jeff's contributions to the meal (or, as Noodle in last post's comment might put it, "the meal itself") were gobbled up right quick, as always.

Here's his "healthy option" of bean salad (and not pictured is his other "healthy option" of Brussels sprouts).

Here's what's left of the main star turkey, which we actually barely got a chance to taste at all.

My favorite, as it involves bread products as its main ingredient, the stuffing. Keep in mind as you view this picture that this stuffing contains a super secret ingredient.

Some people use cornbread for their stuffing, which is very delicious. Some people throw in all sorts of tasty ingredients -- sausage, sage, squash, apples. Stuffing can be whatever you want it to be. This particular stuffing had the best of every single world. You see, we live very near the neighborhood of Carroll Gardens, which once and (and still does have) a very large Italian population. This means a dotting of authentic and very good Italian bakeries all up and down Court Street, only a few blocks away from us. One of those bakeries serves loaves of something that will change your life. Lard bread is bread with lard and chunks of sausage baked right in. Every greasy tear of the bread is rich and hunked with deep red pieces of spicy meat. It. Is. Amazing. We try to save it for special occasions, mostly because we're usually too lazy to walk that far down to get it. Lard bread stuffing was as good as it sounds.

Finally, the staple of the Gordon Thanksgiving table, my mom's sweet potatoes with marshmallows.

Purists would wrinkle their noses at this mixture of mashed canned yams, pineapple, and cinnamon, topped with a bag of baby marshmallows (that's the entire recipe). But I say eff the purists, because this always tastes so deliciously sweet and perfect. It's the perfect homey dish, and I always get my hand smacked for trying to steal sheets of burnt marshmallow from the top without taking the potato part underneath.

We finally threw out the last of the leftovers on Monday night and plan on not eating ever, ever again.

Calm Before the Storm

2007-11-20T22:14:00.000-05:00

Jeff and I are cooking our very first Thanksgiving dinner together on Thursday. Above are the 627 pounds of groceries we bought yesterday and a 13-pound turkey from Staubitz, our butcher down the street.

The menu:

turkey (J)
pot roast (J)
cornbread (S)
cranberry sauce (S)
brussels sprouts (J)
bean salad (J)
sweet potatoes w/marshmallows (My mom -- I loooove her sweet potatoes, mostly for the blanket of slightly burnt marshmallows blanketing the top. She used to let me help her mash together the yams and the pineapple when I was little.)
stuffing (J)

apple crumble (S)
chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese frosting (S)

Back tomorrow and Thursday with recipes, pictures, and results!

Will Run for Food

2007-11-13T20:40:00.000-05:00

I know this is a food blog, but forgive me for not concocting anything photo-worthy lately. I know in my earlier mission statement I swore off takeout and committed to a life of home-cooked goodness...but damnit, I am LAZY. I know it's totally against everything women's magazines and general Girl Power, but I don't really like to make a big fuss when it's just me in the apartment for dinner. I've been intending for the past week or so to buy a steak, brussels sprouts, and shallots and make myself a nice meal. I was excited to take lots of photos for you ("Sheryl's First Steak!").

Alas, all i can offer are photos of my fridge, filled with several boxes of leftover Chinese food. There's been a lot of chicken/veggie/Srichacha combos going on. I'm not proud.

While avoiding my stove, what I have been doing (now that my 2-month injury recovery hiatus has ended) is running. Below, I've created for you a foodie iTunes playlist for your exercise enjoyment. Look to song #3 as my inspiration for creating this list tonight.

When You Finish You Can Eat

1. Neutral Milk Hotel, "The King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1"
A nice, gentle start -- perfect for a warm-up.

2. R.E.M., "Orange Crush"
When I was a little kid and there was a teacher workday, I used to go to my dad's high school (where he was a math teacher) and read at his desk while he went to meetings or graded papers. He always gave me some change to get myself a treat, and I always chose peanut M&Ms (still probably my #1 cheapo candy pick) and a can of Orange Crush.

3. Salt and Pepa, "Push It"
This counts because no meal is complete with a touch of salt and, hmm, pepa. And because I want it to count. I let out a little shriek today when this came on Shuffle during my run -- I don't think I've heard it in at least 5 years. I might or might not have really wanted to scream, "Push it REAL GOOD!" while on the Promenade. And I might have hit the back button just to hear that line again. Twice.

4. Cake, "Let Me Go"
Choosing just ONE lovable, feel-good Cake song is difficult. I settled on this one because it makes you wiggle your hips sassily while running.

5. Counting Crows, "Hard Candy"
An admittedly cringe-worthy song from their weakest album (sorry, Gerry, I do have a place for it in my heart but it's true), this one used to make me pine for a boy who would understand me like Adam Duritz. Oh my, I just typed that.

6. The Cranberries, "Zombie"
Middle school. Watching gold-faced Dolores O'Reardon scream and yodel about conflicts in Northern Ireland while I munched on Costco chocolate muffins the size of my head.

7. Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Coffee Shop"
In high school my friends and I used to drive from Coral Springs all the way to Davie (about a 25-minute trip) to sit and sip snickerdoodle lattes at a tiny nook called The Coffee Table. We felt cool because we had a place of our own. I had a gigantic crush on the guy who worked there and always thought he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

8. Reel Big Fish, "Beer"
Beer is the only food or drink I actively dislike and will not eat. That's it, for real. I can't even comprehend why people find it palatable, to be honest. But content aside, this song (and band) is so much FUN.

9. U2, "Lemon"
When it comes to dessert, I'll rarely choose to order or bake something chocolate (unless we're talking about the budino at Chestnut). Chocolate just feels obvious. Played out. You basically know what it's going to taste like before you bite in -- yes, it's most likely a good taste, but what about something that wows? I'm a huge fan of citrusy desserts, and lemon bars are my go-to for company. Thick lemon paste rests on a super-buttery crust. Sprinkle it with powdered sugar and you have an entire pan that disappears in about 2 days.

10. Warrant, "Cherry Pie"
I like running to this one and pretending I'm onstage with Warrant doing backup vocals. No, I do not picture myself wearing cutoffs and a red bustier, and no Jani Lane does not spray me with a hose.

11. The Rolling Stones, "Brown Sugar"
My favorite stones song. Also, my favorite sweetner. I'm not going to lie -- whenever I'm baking with brown sugar I always sneak little chunks of it for snacks.

12. Tori Amos, "Cornflake Girl"
I'm more of a Kashi Girl.

13. Smashing Pumpkins, "Mayonnaise"
Andrea and I bought scalped tickets to see the Smashing Pumpkins our senior year of high school. We were in a rush, but if we'd had more time we would have bought jar of Hellman's and held them up so they would have played Mayonnaise. Although Billy Corgan is an asshole, so he probably wouldn't have, anyway. The show was incredible, and D'arcy totally smiled and waved at us.

14. Snoop Dogg, "Gin and Juice"
How many times did this video play back in 1993? "Snoop Doggy Dog? You need to get a jobby job!!"

15. Def Leopard, "Pour Some Sugar On Me"
See above comments on "Cherry Pie" and apply here, as well. Yes, my ideal job is hair band backup singer. What of it?

16. Green Day, "Poprocks and Coke"
Whenever I make a running playlist there is always at least one Green Day song on it. They're all short, peppy, and give a good boost when you feel like you want to give up and walk.

17. Mariah Carey, "Honey"
My favorite weekend breakfast is a steaming bowl of steel-cut Irish oatmeal, drizzled with honey and dotted with clumps of peanut butter.

18. Duran Duran, "Hungry Like the Wolf"
There was a point in high school where, when hungry, my friends and I would say, "Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry like the wolf!" We were awfully clever.

Daydreams

2007-11-11T18:55:00.000-05:00

I have been craving the following for the past three days--a hot stack of extra-fluffy pancakes or one hot, crispy Belgian waffle, topped with a scoop of maple ice cream. The ice cream starts to melt after it's scooped out, and oozes maple-y, creamy goodness over the top of the pancakes or in the crevices of the waffle. Like syrup, but creamy and cold.

Does this combination exist? I might have to make it happen soon.

I had a stack of pumpkin pancakes from Lobo for brunch this morning, which kind of helped satisfy my craving. I would eat my keyboard if baked with pumpkin spices, probably.

I am a Nut(ella)...ella...ella...

2007-11-06T21:33:00.000-05:00

When I'm alone in the apartment, it taunts me.

Let's call it my "Nut Butter Problem." It's the reason I prefer not to keep peanut butter or Nutella in the house, and it's the reason why when I lived with Andrea I had to replace her jar of Skippy about, oh, 27 times? And if we're honest, I probably had to replace it 28 or 29, but just forgot.

I should have just bought my own (And while I was at it, bought Jif--for real, Andrea? Skippy? Do you not like smooth, slow-roasted nuts? Do you prefer blandess?)

For better or worse, I've never had the opportunity to live alone. College roommates, then suitemates, then housemates, then apartmentmates, and now a fiance have kept home with me, which I really don't mind. As much of a homebody as I am, it has always given me comfort to know that someone is in the next room on the computer or watching TV while I'm in my own room doing whatever it is I do (watching Law and Order: SVU or reading my RSS Feed. That's about all the goes on.)

But even with roommates, there are always those nights when I'm the only one home. I always feel slightly free, like mom and dad are gone and I have the place to myself, man. And what does a free woman do when there's no one around to judge her actions? A bottle of wine, maybe? An entire Lucali's pizza? A tube of raw cookie dough? (Ooh! THAT'S a fun idea!)

All tempting, but no. She eats half a jar of nutella or peanut butter, that's what! God help me, I can't help but refer to Sex and the City; do forgive me. This is SO my Secret Single Behavior.

It always happens. I'll have eaten my dinner (in tonight's case, a chicken, avocado, tomato, and chickpea salad with toast) and usually some dessert (a s'more made with s'more fixins left here by Alison--a favor bag she got at a wedding a few weekends ago. Cute, no?), and then I sprawl on the couch to watch some Olivia Benson and Stabler action and then I feel that pull. Cabinet, cabinet, it's in the cabinet. And then I sternly tell myself that I am not hungry and do not want any peanut butter or Nutella.

Well...just a spoonful would be fine, right? I'll just sneak a wee little spoonful.

The next thing I know I'm in the fetal position on the couch in a ball of nut butter shame and stomach pain, half a bottle of something or other is gone, and I'm wailing, "Why can I not stay away?"

Smoothy, rich, nutty butter is my crack, snuck in spoonfuls when I'm positive no one can come home to catch me. And tonight, I have had my fix. 12 days and, oh, 3 jars until Jeff comes back to town?

Wining and Dining

2007-11-02T17:15:00.001-04:00

I am told that many emails went into the planning of my bachelorette party last weekend, and by “many,” I mean something like, “good lord, you have NO IDEA how hard it is to coordinate the schedules and opinions of up to 10 people, shoot me now.” Well, as someone who remained somewhat blissfully unaware of the backstory of the weekend, I am pleased to let me dearest friends and faithful readers (redundant?) know that I couldn’t have planned one better myself.

We started the festivities at the only place on Earth I actively enjoy going out, Paladar. Heaven. Happiness. Oh, how my body starts to tingle in anticipation of a glorious minty mojito with sugar cane or a super-spicy Vampiro (a hibiscus flower “martini” with cayenne pepper around the rim).….of the endless baskets of chips with black bean sauce and hummus for dipping. Paladar is a place where all just seems right and rose-tinged. And this is coming from a gal who pretty much actively dislikes the process of “going out”—yes, at some point in my mid-20s I became a curmudgeonly old woman, shaking my fist at “kids” and “noise” and “drunken fools.” This place reminds me of my first apartment with Andrea on the Lower East Side, finding my way in New York for the first time, going out almost every night and becoming a person who wasn’t me to see how it felt, and laughing ‘til it hurt the entire way.

After a few cocktails, a mountain of French fries, and a simple, tasty dinner of grilled fish tacos with huge hunks of avocado, we loaded up a rented minivan and were on the road to our mystery destination. Of course, we first had to stop off for road snacks, including a box of bad-to-decent pizza slices, and gas station rations of Pepperidge Farm cookies (Bleh—chemically. I’ve grown to hate packaged baked goods.), licorice bits, Chex mix, plaintain chips (Oddness – not sure who bought those?), honey-roasted peanuts, and pretzels. Heaven forbid we go more than an hour without food! Unthinkable!

Our three-hour drive ended allll the way out on Long Island in a town called Southold. I had a pretty good idea of what was in store for the day ahead when I saw sign after sign displaying bunches of grapes. I’ve never been to a vineyard and it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for, oh, forever. And of course, they all knew! My friends are the bestest.

Also, I remember when thinking about what my ideal bahelorette party would entail (even when I was very much single), I used to say just my best friends, a few bottles of wine, and a weekend locked in a cabin in the woods. Or something. And food, lots of food. And so after driving down a dark, empty road for about 30 minutes, we pulled up to where we would be staying for the weekend. Oh, my – they rented a SECLUDED HOUSE! Just for us! (The below picture was taken the next day...we arrived around 11:30 or so).

Haley entered the passcode and the 7 of us ran around the downstairs, looking at all the beds, and scampered upstairs to marvel at the wraparound porch, huge living room and kitchen area, and two upstairs bathrooms. We were like the Real World kids upon being introduced to their new phat pad—“Omigod, this is really ours?? This is so cool! I’m SO not sleeping in the downstairs room!!” A house! All for ourselves! A mere block away from the ocean, to boot, although we didn’t take advantage of that amenity. Summer 2008 is begging for a revisit.

The next morning, Jenn woke us up at some insane hour telling us she was going to go for a drive, and asking if we wanted coffee. Wow, why yes, we do thanks! We all got up one by one, trudged around the living room, and Andrea decided to make us all scrambled eggs. I might be incorrect, but I think this was her first time attempting the art of the scrambled egg. She’s a natural.

From around the house the question was raised, “Um, where’s Jenn?” At this point, she had been gone for about an hour and a half in search of coffee and a toothbrush. She walked through the door triumphantly about 15 minutes later, bearing coffee for all and bags filled with local pastries. Seven women, coffee, various fruity muffins, scones, a chocolate croissant, eggs…we were grabbing and munching and then regrabbing and munching some more for a good 30 minutes.

We had another super-secret appointment at noon. At 11:45 I was led outside to…whoo! A waiting limo! A limo, too? For real? We had the limo for 5 hours and were off to a tour that included 4 wineries and a lunch.

I won’t get into all the wineries because I’m not well-versed enough in any way to properly talk about the nuances of the wines we were served. I’ve had a lot of wine—aside from Paladar cocktails, it’s the only form of alcohol I truly enjoy—and I still can’t get beyond the, “I like this!” and the “I don’t like this!” stage. I mostly just always look at a wine menu until I see the offered Riesling and then call it a night. Yes, I like my wine to taste like fruit, what’s it to you?

I’ll just say that the first winery we went to was by far the most beautiful. The tasting area was set up outside on a porch overlooking the expanse of grapes. The grayish white sky and mild temperature made everything have a sharper edge, from the leaves, to the wine glasses, to the people milling around. Everything felt classy and crisp.

One of the wines we were poured was a dessert wine hated by all but I think 2 of us. It tasted like raspberry syrup—in fact, the pourer dude, who was all kinds of nice, told us that it’s divine poured over cheesecake or vanilla ice cream. That, I can get behind.

The next winery gave us the most bang for the buck—4 full glasses of any wines we chose to check on the paper placemat before us. I had a cloying ice wine that gave off the most odd perfumey smell. It might have been fine in lieu of dessert, but was mostly thick and tasted of concentrated apple juice. A bit too sweet, even for me. The two reds I chose were fine—not fabulous, I’d order them again, but nothing to get crazy over. My favorite wine of the whole day, however, was a lovely glass of pinky-peach rose that tasted of slightly alcoholic grapefruit juice. I was a little tipsy at this point—that lovely wine tipsyness!—and kept exclaiming how great this wine would be with brunch. “No, seriously guys, isn’t this such an awesome brunch wine! It’s so light and fruity! Isn’t it interesting? Yum, this rose is so fruity!” And so they bought me a bottle to take home, because they’re awesome.

We made our way into the limo for winery #3, a bit soused and a bit hungry. Before lunch came our first tour, given by the winemaker himself. Maybe he was captivated by our charm, or maybe he was amused by my tiara and veil, I just don’t know, but he pulled just us aside to go even further downstairs to see the barrels. Down there, we got a taste of the reserve cabarnet sauvignon, which was very smooth. I loved hearing the man who actually makes the wine talk about how much he loves what he does, and how much he loves his product. Winemaking is his family business, and you could tell it’s just something he performs with a natural grace. The girls bought me two bottles from this place, too.

After picnic lunches on the porch (I was told that there was much email debate over which lunch selection I would prefer. They ended up with a duck salad. I mean, once they saw that a duck salad was on the menu, I really don’t understand why there was any debate. What, I’m going to have a grilled veggie sandwich? Please.), we loaded up the limo once again for #4, slowly, bit-by-bit, going from tipsy to sleeeeeepy. Winery #4 might have been nice and all had it been our first stop, but we were pretty much done and ready for a good, winey nap. The only thing that perked us up a little bit was the purchase of a cheese plate with spiced nuts, some of those most delicious roasted (and pickled?) red pepper we’d ever encountered, olives, a manchego, a cheddar, and then two others. Yes, I was too tired to even pay attention to or finish all the cheese. I am a sad food blogger after a glass or 2 or 7 of wine...

Back to the house, under blankets, a viewing of Clueless, a ravaging of the leftover muffins, and an episode and a half of ANTM later, we were off to dinner. I’m going to speak for the group and say that not one of us was very hungry, but hell if this group was going to miss a meal. A meandering drive (civilization was far) and two failed attempts at finding affordable restaurants near the water later, we ended up at a perfectly serviceable pub with food that really isn’t worth mentioning. We broke open the champagne that was part of the wine package deal and babbled on and on until our waitress brought over dessert that she was kind enough to decorate after hearing about my upcoming nuptials.

That’s me and Jeff’y! And our happy home!

Then it was to bed for us, because we’re old and tired. The next morning we were on our way home, but had to stop off first at one of the many roadside stands that you think only exist in movies when you live in New York City, but then realize actually do exist and hey, wouldn’t it be awesome to live in a place where driving up to one of these is a reality? But then you realize that means driving a car, and for me, that means it’s a no-go. I picked up a jar of rhubarb jam to bring home as a souvenir (this week we’ve found it helps make an interesting PBJ sandwich) and Haley snapped this gorgeous apple picture. This makes me want to bake something with apples and buttery crumbs, which you can expect me to write about very soon.

The weekend was everything I could have wanted. I love my friends so much. I love them not only because, just like me, they’re always willing to eat until busting point while talking about what we’re going to have for our next meal, but mostly because they know me so well (sometimes too well, they cannot be fooled, ever), that when we’re together there’s nothing to do but let go and laugh and laugh. I can’t wait for them to walk down the aisle with me in January.

(Boo, Jenn is missing in the above pic.)

Corn Muffins with Minute Maid Sauce

2007-10-29T13:06:00.001-04:00

I’m back and recovering from the bachelorette party to end all bachelorette parties, which you’ll be hearing about shortly. I need to collect my thoughts and my pictures and decide which of the 197 photographs of wine bottles, rum cocktails, bags of cookies, plates of eggs, boxes of pizza, etc., etc., etc. to share. There was consumption, and there was lots of it.

First I’ll share about a baking project I took on last week. Getting married has its perks, what with the union of two souls and all that fun stuff, but let me tell you about the amazingness that is registering for gifts. You see, you just list things that you want and then people buy them for you, which makes me insanely happy and a bit uncomfortable all at once. The generosity of people, it is incredible. We actually have glasses and bakeware and decorative vases and bowls now—like grown-ups!

I wanted to put our brand new toys to work so I decided to make lemony corn muffins, starring my brand new microplane zester and muffin tins with removable silicone cups. Corn muffins are Jeff's and my favorite, and the original plan was to fruit them up with blueberries. I was all excited to take pictures of me skillfully dredging the blueberries in flour before I added them to the batter, to make sure they would suspend in the middle of each muffin rather than sinking to the bottom. Alas, blueberries were $7/box at the corner market, and even we don’t like them that much. A Google of “lemon” and “corn muffin” (because I didn’t want the 2 lemons to go to waste) yielded this recipe.

In my world, baking is simple because if you follow the recipe precisely, your end result will come out well. End of story. People tell me this isn’t true and that rock-hard cookies and soupy cakes happen even to the most diligent baker, but I really don’t believe them. Maybe it’s dumb luck and my uneducated palate thinks anything sweet and bready can’t be all that bad, but I’m going to run with the notion that my OCD-must-measure-everything kitchen tendencies make me a naturally pretty decent baker. I’m never nervous when making dessert, which is worlds away from all of my second guessing while cooking.

Do you have any idea how much easier it is to zest a lemon with a proper tool rather than a cheese grater? Our apartment sees a good share of desserts with citrus zest (lemon bars and orange-cranberry biscotti are some greatest hits), and I normally spend a looooong time furiously grating fruit along a standing grater, usually catching my knuckles in the process, and then having to scrape off globs of lemon zest and pith with a fork from the grater’s holes. My microplane made curlicues of lemon peel fall from the fruit with the greatest of ease, in seconds. Seconds! Look how lovely and precise these bits of zest are!

After mixing my wet ingredients with my dry, I poured the batter into the silicone cups that came with our new muffin tins.

The room filled bright with the smell of lemony goodness after 15 minutes of baking, and the muffins emerged a golden brown and slid like a dream from these wondercups. Hooray for not having to use Pam or ever more butter.

These muffins were dense and a bit crumbly, no light-as-air fluffiness – perfect, because these are muffins, damnit, not cupcakes. That being said, the lemon and sugar combo made these a little bit sweet for the traditional muffin category, even though I did cut back a bit on the ½ cup of requested sugar. But that might have had more to do with the “glaze” that I spooned over each muffin and then drizzled artfully on the plate –- 2 cups of powdered sugar and the juice of two lemons.

Tasty? Yes. But more of a lemonade sauce than a delicate, nuanced topping. Sometimes just a plain old corn muffin will do. The next time I bake these I think I’ll go the more rustic route – I’m going to look for a recipe with less sugar and more, well, corniness. A savory cornbread in muffin form is my ideal. I’m thinking actual corn kernels mixed in and maybe a hint of sharp cheese? I'll report back soon.

Iced Lemon Corn Muffins
from moon-pie.blogspot.com

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup yellow cornmeal
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons finely grated fresh lemon zest
1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2/3 cup whole milk
2 large egg yolks
1 whole large egg

Juice and zest of two lemons
2 cups powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 400°F and line 15 (1/3-cup) muffin cups with liners, dividing evenly between 2 pans (muffins cook more evenly with empty cups among them).

Whisk together flour, cornmeal, granulated sugar, baking powder, salt, and zest in a large bowl. Whisk together butter, milk, yolks, and whole egg and stir into flour mixture until just combined. Divide batter evenly among cups (each cup will be about three fourths full).

Bake in middle of oven (or upper and lower thirds if necessary) 15 minutes or until tops are golden and a tester comes out clean. Remove muffins from pans, cool 5 minutes, and ice. Serve warm.

Icing: Whisk zest, juice, and sugar together. Spoon gently onto warm muffins; drizzle remainder on serving plates.

Makes 15 muffins.

(Recipe adapted from Epicurious.com)

A Seafood Saturday

2007-10-21T10:15:00.000-04:00

We walked home from lunch in the Saturday sunshine, giddy and giggling, filled with wine and fresh fish and pie. I really felt like skipping, in spite of my full belly. There's really nothing is better than a great meal, a big multi-course meal, in a brand new restaurant. I love finding more places in the neighborhood that we can consider ours, even if we are behind the curve in "discovering" it. Again, no one ever said I was trendy.

La Petit Crevette is a darling nook of a restaurant with aqua walls and a handwritten menu on brown paper. The owner is the chef is the waiter is the single man who cooks your food in his tiny little kitchen for one, in plain view of the cozy 16-table main room. From the beginning of our visit, when we peeked through the blinds of the locked door and were finally let in by the above-mentioned everyman Neil Ganic (apparently famous in the Brooklyn food world from his former restaurant La Bouillabaisse), we felt like we were being welcomed into someone's private kitchen...and this Saturday afternoon at noon, we kind of were. As the restaurant's only customers (and, as always, customers with big and curious appetites), we got the VIP treatment.

As soon as we sat down at the window seat Neil asked us what we felt like eating that day, as if anything from the sea was ours to order. He ticked off a list of available fish: red snapper, cod, oysters, tuna, mussels... We started out with an order of fried oysters, small and super-hot with mustard and tartar sauce for dipping.

Next, enticed by the offer on the wall menu, we asked if he could make us grilled sardines. Why, no problem. When Neil placed the plate of three large bone-in fish in front of us, he was sure to let us know, "you know, people say it's better here than you can get in Portugal." While I have no idea if that's correct--and I would very much like to find out--these, spritzed with a little lemon, seemed perfect. Like when we ate the ginormous crispy whole fish with chiles at Sripriphai in Queens a few months ago, we had a ton of fun filleting the fish ourselves and picking the oily meat from around the tiny bones. Neil brought us two free glasses of white wine with this dish, because, "you must drink wine with fish." Well all right!

The entrees were large and filling without being a drag for the rest of the day--a tuna burger for Jeff, medium rare with a pile of decent fries, and a red snapper nicoise for me with a huge piece of flaky fish and a ton of crisp green beans.

The food was good because of its simplicity--fresh fish, nice veggies, good portions, and obvious love and care from the chef/owner/waiter/busboy. (I'm sure that he has a full staff at night. The restaurant was just voted "Best Small Fry Restaurant" in Time Out New York and Neil recently expanded his seating space into the former flower shop next door.)

And while a little research shows me that Mr. Ganic has a bit of a prickly reputation around these parts, but I'm judging by what we saw this time around... and we saw a man who loves his food. That's enough for me. This isn't the kind of meal that's fall-out-of-your-chair scrumptious, but it's the kind of meal that makes you feel warm and cared for after eating it.

Even moreso if you end with key lime pie with a crumbly crust and fresh whipped cream. Perfect.

I really preferred this feat to the typical omelette, mimosa, coffee toast brunch. Our meal didn't sit like lead in our stomachs for the rest of the day, and even better, was a lovely way to try a new place and beat the nighttime crowd. We will without a doubt be back. I already want to try the curried mussels and seared scallops next time....

La Petit Crevette

144 Union St., Brooklyn, NY 11231
(at Hicks St)

Shhh!

2007-10-19T16:21:00.000-04:00

It’s pretty cool when your fiancé works at an office with free lunch everyday. Free gourmet lunch. With a various different international themes. And two different cafeterias to choose from. Everyday. And multiple snacks. For free. Yeah. So pretty cool for me, who can visit from time to time, and damn near heavenly for him.

I was able to take a long lunch today and hopped a quick subway ride to this food fantasyland. When offered Spanish or Italian (although there also was Indian and sushi and plain old American, as well), I immediately went for the former, simply because of the promise of chorizo. Chorizo gets me giddy on any menu—it’s second only to merguez in my rank of most-loved proteins. And no, I never called it proteins before Top Chef, but I do now, so nyeh.

The chorizo and onions, paella, and chickpea and cabbage salad were all tasty, and the little tapas platter of marinated mushrooms and artichokes, tortilla, and bread brushed with olive oil was fun (And decadent! I can’t believe people eat lunch like this every day. JEALOUS!), but the best part of the meal was the hunk (or two, ahem) of citrusy flan for dessert. Oh, yes, we also had a raspberry and chocolate bar and some sort of pecan tart, but it was the flan that had us going back for more. I’m usually not a fan—I like the texture and bite of a good piece of cake or a cookie. But this flan was creamy, with a hint of orange throughout that appealed to my orange-loving dessert side. We scooped it up with perfect amaretti cookies that had a crip exterior and a lovely, chewy inside.

Jealous!

An Orange Dinner

2007-10-17T21:14:00.000-04:00

I started this blog mainly because I decided it was time to stop being a foodie who really doesn't know how to cook. Thanks to hours spent in front of The Food Network and a shelf filled with Jeffrey Steingarten, Amanda Hesser, Calvin Trillin, Mark Bittman, and six Best of Food Writing volumes, I can tell you how important it is to properly season your food and use quality unsalted butter and olive oil and shop locally and organically. I have snippets of tips and tricks knocking around my head and have been too chicken to really give it a go. You see, I don't much like attempting things I won't be super at from the get-go. Which is lame. And so unless Jeff has cooked one of his wonderful dinners, it's been takeout or dining out pretty much every night for my past four years in New York. Ugh, I'm such a cliché–"Oh, me I'm just a gal in the city! Nothing to see here but a jar of mustard and some wilted lettuce!" My years in Boston weren't much better—there were some pots of lentil stew my roommate Jamie and I mixed up and maybe a few sauteed chicken and veggie mishmashes, but those were few and far between. That's what Anna's Taqueria was for.

I think I truly won't be able to appreciate the nuances of food until I really know the finesse that goes into preparing it. I want to speak and write intelligently about dining, to be able to recognize the separate ingredients in the dishes I love so much. And ultimately (this I know will take a while), I want to stop being a slave to a written recipe. Is it possible for my timid soul to stop being afraid of making a mistake? Now, if a recipe calls for 1/3 cup grated cheese, you better believe I'm grating and measuring my parmesan to the exact top of the cup. Seasoned cooks would slap me if they had to cook with me. (I know I try Jeff's patience, and he's only seen me try a few times.) I want to learn to relax. And even further down the line, I want to feel comfortable enough to invent.

Tonight, I got inspired by the butternut squashes I've seen popping up in markets since the beginning of October. Even though that bite isn't quite in the air yet (and thank goodness; I want to wear flip flops and skirts forever and ever), those gourds are piling up, reminding us that it should be fall. I found this recipe on Epicurious and was daydreaming about it all day. Bright orange squash, like candy, slipping over and between thick flat noodles. And butter, glorious butter to bind it all together in a slippery-sweet sauce.

I overcooked the noodles a bit (grr–I couldn't find my favorite, pappardelle, so I had to settle for fettucine) and I made a hell of a mess, but it came out quite tasty. I added onions to the recipe, because some commenters thought the recipe was a tad bland. And it was a good idea! Score one for improvisation!

Dessert was our beloved Ciao Bella mango sorbet dotted with pearly pomegranate seeds. Check it out up there–isn't that just so pretty?

Pappardelle with Squash, Mushrooms, and Spinach

from epicurious.com

12 ounces pappardelle or fettuccine pasta

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, divided

3 cups 1/2-inch cubes butternut squash (from 1-pound squash)

8 ounces fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed, caps sliced

1 1/2 tablespoons chopped fresh sage

1 5- to 6-ounce package baby spinach

3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided

Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally. Drain, reserving 1 cup pasta cooking liquid.

Meanwhile, melt 1/4 cup butter in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add squash and cook until almost tender, stirring often, about 6 minutes. Add mushrooms, sage, and remaining 1/4 cup butter; sauté until mushrooms are soft and squash is tender, about 8 minutes. Add spinach; stir until wilted, about 2 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup cheese. Season with salt and pepper. Add pasta to sauce in skillet. Toss to coat, adding pasta cooking liquid by 1/4 cupfuls if dry. Sprinkle with 1/4 cup cheese.

How It All Began?

2007-10-16T17:15:00.000-04:00

Somewhere along my timeline, within these 27 years, food went from “basic necessity, a turkey sandwich will do” to “I absolutely refuse waste a meal on mediocre pizza.” I have no idea when this transformation occurred, but I can’t believe there was actually a time when I did not plot and plan every single meal and when vacations did not revolve around the cuisine we’d encounter along the way. Food, aside from my fiancé, family, and friends (hello, Fs!), has slowly become one of my greatest loves.

I wish there were some blatant “aha!” moment I could point to as The One that changed me. All I know is that the new me was present and feisty during a post-college trip to Europe, where my friend Alison and I basically laughed in the faces of some new friends who suggested, in Paris, that we “just, whatever, grab a slice of pizza or something at that place across the street” Um, no way buddy. We’re going to the creperie we read about in our book. Later!

However, while she waited about 20+ years to find her way, this little eatin’ beast has apparently been hiding away, fighting to get out since about kindergarten. I just recently realized that my favorite books from childhood—where I shunned Lincoln Logs, card games, bike riding, and pretty much everything else Toys R’ Us related to read books from the moment I awoke, through meals, under my school desk, in the bathroom, and well past my bedtime—all had memorable food scenes and descriptions.

• My favorite hardcover picture book by far was Dr. Seuss’s The Butter Battle Book, a tale of war between two towns—one that preferred its bread butter side up, one that preferred it butter side down.

• One of my favorite scenes is from Sydney Taylor’s All of a Kind Family. Each of the five little girls is given a penny of her very own to spend on a family trip to market. I still remember that one girl selected a paper cone filled with sweet crackers, one chose a fat dill pickle, and one some kid of grape-flavored sweet.

• The only vision I can recall from A Wrinkle in Time is the scene in the beginning where a pot of hot chocolate is being warmed and stirred on the stove, with the milky skin on top.

• When asked what my favorite book of all time is, I often answer Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (and this was way before my Cobble Hill days!). Francie’s absolute happiness was trading in trash to earn a single penny, which she then brought to the candy store. She stood before the case for an eternity, assessing, thinking, deciding on the perfect treat. She then brought it home (usually with a bowlful of peppermints), poured herself a glass of water, and sat on her Williamsburg balcony reading a book and savoring her riches.

• I must have read Cynthia Voight’s Homecoming at least ten times, but the only snippets I remember involve the characters foraging for food. Dicey and her siblings are abandoned in a parking lot by their mother, and begin a journey on foot to their grandmother’s house with a meager amount of money that they must make last. They go to the “used” aisle of supermarkets and buy day-old doughnuts and old apples and bananas. They wash it down with quarts of milk. When the come upon a kind college student, he takes Dicey to a diner while the children sleep and buys her a juicy burger, which she savors bite after juicy bite.

A little weird, no? And there are more, many more. Lemon-lime shakes and boxes of gumballs in Henry Huggins, all of Stone Soup (I thought the smooth stones would feel really interesting in my mouth if I were to eat it), Claudia’s junk food stash in every single Baby-Sitters Club book, the fact that Kendra’s brother kept Ring Dings in the freezer in Paula Danziger’s Remember Me to Herald Square (please read this if you haven’t!), and on and on.

So yes, obviously it took a while for my adult life to catch up to my latent childhood obsessions. But they were, apparently, always there. And now, here I am today, totally obsessing about a mug of hot chocolate with a frozen Ring Ding.

Let's Eat

2007-10-16T15:40:00.000-04:00

Having a food blog -- especially a Brooklyn-based food blog -- is so painfully 2005. Well, I never said I was trendy.