With Leftovers

Dippy Onion Meatloaf

2012-01-19T12:01:00.000-05:00

I grew up in an era when packaged foods were preferred to fresh. My mother, the Great Spam (do click on the link) Queen, thought that only little old immigrant ladies stood over the stove all day, stirring and sniffing and tasting. Why would anyone do that when the freezer's stocked with frozen waffles?

Then, sometime in the eighties,the food world shifted on its skewer. Suddenly, we were all making pesto (Who would have known what pesto was a mere ten years before? That old woman at the stove, that's who.), and cooing over baby arugula, which led to the whole foodie cult(ure). I can't exclude myself from it, either. I have frozen curry leaves in the freezer and Maldon sea salt on the table. But I also have a box of Lipton Onion Soup Mix in the closet. I bet you do, too.

Have you ever used it to make soup? I didn't think so. It's either the dip, which all people of good will admit that they have never stopped loving, or the meatloaf. Looking idly at the two recipes on the back of the box the other night, I had a "your peanut butter got on my chocolate" moment. Why not make an onion-soup dip meatloaf? Okay, I'm sure you can think of plenty of reasons. I'm went ahead anyway. It emerged from the oven moist, tangy, and sublimely oniony.

I used about a pound and a half of ground meat, mostly beef, with some veal and pork mixed in. You can use all beef, of course. Then, in goes 1/2 packet onion soup mix (shake it to make sure it is well blended), a 1/3 or so cup chopped onion, 2 eggs, 6 or so tablespoons sour cream, a dash or two of hot sauce, ditto Worcestershire sauce, and a squirt of ketchup. Salt and pepper, of course. Now, squish it all together with your hands. Add dry breadcrumbs, until the mixture almost holds together. Let stand for about five minutes, during which the breadcrumbs will swell somewhat and absorb more moisture. At this point, you can take a spoonful of the meatloaf mix and fry it, then adjust the seasoning. Not necessary, but if you like fiddling about in the kitchen, go right ahead.

Form into a loaf. Or a ring. That worked for me once or twice. Ends for everybody! I like to glaze it with a blend of ketchup and hot sauce, but that might be too downmarket for some of you, not that it isn't downmarket enough already.

Bake at 350 for about an hour. Let rest for a few minutes before serving. Draw the curtains.

Porking My Way Back to You, Dears

2012-01-10T13:04:00.003-05:00

As some of you doubtless know, 2011 (damn those odd numbers, never good) was not one of my better years. It had its moments, though, including waking up in the ghost town that was Chadwick Beach on the morning of Hurricane Irene's arrival. (Why were we the last? As we told the very nice firemen, were well into happy/grilling hour and had no intention of packing up our hamburgers and hitting the road. Also that hitting said road at sunset with vodka coursing through one's bloodstream is, I've heard, a bad idea.)

So, here we are in an even-numbered year, and I'm ready to throw myself back into the kitchen, and this blog. Note to self: Remember that you do not mean throw literally; you are barely healed from the CD rack incident.

By my lights, the NY Times Magazine's food articles had reached a nadir several years ago, with the dreadful woo-and-coo barf fest offered up by Amanda Hesser. I think it was followed by some guy trying to feed his kid, but I never stopped to check on my way to the crossword puzzle. Perhaps it was Mr. Latte. However, I've been truly inspired by the mag's new approach to the weekly food article, conceived and written by Mark Bittman. The stories often careen into Mad Hatter charts, allowing you to map your way to any number of astonishing combinations for, say, canapes. Bittman offers both recipes and jumping-off points, and is sometimes deliberately vague, leaving you to find your own way, which is the best way of all.

This week, Mark features pork and apples, a classic combination from Normandy to Nova Scotia. I was instantly drawn to Apple-Stuffed Pork Loin with Moroccan Spices. However, there was a problem: The recipe serves six to eight people, as do all others on the page. Either Mark knows a lot of large families, or NYT readers give dinner parties at a mad clip

So, following directions, I sauteed the onions and apples, using the full amount, which I was going to attempt to stuff into a pint-sized (1 1/2 pound) pork loin. I figured that if it was yummy, I could use the remainder later. Or eat it directly out of the pan. If you look at the picture of the finished dish in the Times, you can see that the suggested stuffing cavity is rather small and elegant. Yet Bittman said, "...make the hole as wide as you can." So I did, first using the spoon, then stuffing my fist into the little sucker. Far less tasteful, but far more tasty.

Stuffing hot onions and, worse still, hot apples, into the hole made for an X-rated vocabulary in the kitchen. In the end, though, it was well worth it: juicy, succulent, and full of complex flavors.

For better or for worse, I'm back again. You can consider that while I go slice myself a hunk of fruit-filled pork.

Eating Alone with Friends

2011-02-03T09:02:00.000-05:00

On the all-too-rare occasions that I have an evening in on my own, I usually turn to my three bestest friends for company: bread, cheese, and wine. However, given the frigid weather of late--and the endlessly broken and repaired and rerepaired boiler in my building--I decided that something hot was indicated.

I'd made pasta with eggs before, but the eggs were always accompanied by bacon, teaming up for a deliciously artery-shattering carbonara. Since I was going to be solely responsible for the dishes resulting from this particular dinner, I decided to simplify, dropping the bacon and--more important--the pan that would wind up greasily in the sink. Yes, there's a pan involved here, but frying bacon is a whole other kettle of...um...pork products.

The principle if not unlike a carbonara, except that the egg is lightly fried in seasoned oil before being tossed with the pasta and cheese. It turned out to be a lovely little meal: warm, rich, creamy, and, accompanied by a glass or two of wine, thoroughly satisfying. And, it occurs to me, it's a meal with the friends mentioned above, just in winter guises.

pasta
olive oil
red pepper flakes
a clove or two of garlic, chopped
1 egg
tons of grated cheese
salt, pepper

Cook a single serving of pasta. I particularly like linguini fini.

Heat a splash of olive oil over medium heat. Add red pepper flakes and garlic, stirring occasionally, until garlic softens. Break egg into pan (or into a bowl, then into the pan--much easier). Cook until white is almost set. Pour entire contents of pan over pasta. Toss with a great deal of Parm or Romano. Salt and pepper to taste. It suddenly occurs to me that a handful of chopped parsley mightn't be bad here, either.

My Sole Rejoices

2011-02-02T12:31:00.001-05:00

Back from sickness, back from Pittsburgh, in case you were wondering.
Today, I'd like to address my inability with fish, and how I've gotten around it. Not shellfish, mind: Set me loose on oysters, mussels, lobster, you name it, and I will create dish fit for Neptune himself. Flatfish, however are my piscine bete noir. I undercook and overcook and can't turn a filet without it falling to bits--even while using a special fish spatula.

All of which somehow brings me back to my Catholic school girlhood, and the days of fish on Fridays. Until my mother discovered that she could buy shrimp already cooked and chilled, we had lemon sole every week. It amazes me now that it seems to have occurred to no one at all that it wasn't that fish was compulsory on Friday but that meat was on as 24-hour proscribed list. Seriously, it would have been nice to have a grilled cheese sandwich stand in for that sole once in a while.

Mom, no great fan of cooking in general, did have a simple method of preparing that relentless lemon sole. She dotted it with butter and popped it in the broiler. My method is a bit more complicated: melt the butter, add some spices, dip the fish in the butter, and pop in the broiler. (Why did I not remember this sooner? Tied up with memories of the utterly horrifying St. Agnes Seminary, I expect.)

I was rather shocked at the results: perfectly done, moist fish, that flaked at the touch of a fork. Now, if only I could forget Sister Helen Gertrude.

fish filets, cut into reasonably similar-sized pieces (I used cod)
melted butter, seasoned with--at the very least--salt and pepper. (Other options include aleppo pepper, hot sauce, Old Bay, a squeeze of lemon, and so forth)

Heat the broiler. Dip fish in seasoned butter. Broil until done, 5-7 minutes, depending upon thickness. If you're not sure that the fish is done (I never am), slice into gently and check.

Greek Treats on Essex Street

2011-01-18T14:10:00.000-05:00

For better or for worse, but certainly for more expensive, the Essex Street Market on the Lower East Side has undergone some significant changes. Cilantro and jalapenos are replaced by artisanal cheeses and chocolates. As long as I can still a get buck bunch of cilantro that rivals my head in size, I’m okay with that. However, it’s also nice to see newcomers arrive that gently look to the past, not the future. Such a place is Boubouki, a homey little stall owned by Rona Economou. Photos of her family decorate the walls of the tiny space. Ms. Economou turns out fresh, flaky spanokopita, baklava, and feta flatbread, featured on a roster that continues to evolve and expand. Don’t overlook the unassuming Easter cookies, which taste like a cross between a butter cookie and the most insanely good crumb cake ever.

Boubouki

120 Essex Street

718-344-4202

And a Cheesy New Year to You

2011-01-04T12:48:00.000-05:00

There are leftovers and then there are leftovers. If you haven’t finished up the last of the turkey and stuffing, it’s time for it to go. If that just reminded you of Thanksgiving leftovers lurking in the back of the fridge, well, you’re my kind of housekeeper.

In the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day*, we managed to use up just about everything—except some odds and end of cheese that had suffered from being in and out of the refrigerator one too many times. (Yes, I know you’re supposed to cut off the amount you need, but I always think I need all of it, every single time.) There is a way for those cheese bits to go out in a French blaze of glory: fromage fort.

Fromage fort ("strong cheese") is insanely easy to make, endlessly variable, and has an eau de sophistication that most leftovers don't. The French like to age their fromage fort, which increases its strength (hence its name). I don't have that kind of patience.

Fromage fort (FroFo?) can be eaten straight out of the food processor or, better still, spread on baguette slices and broiled briefly. I used some blue, some brie, and a bit of Humboldt Fog. Perhaps a quarter pound of the first two, and half as much fog. Into the Cuisinart they go, along with a clove or two of garlic (or not). Start processing the cheese, then enough white wine (1/4 cup or so) to create a smoothish paste with smallish lumps. (If the spread ever makes it to the fridge, it will thicken a fair bit.)

There, isn't that better than those festive turkey-stuffing balls you were considering?

*I resolve to be a better and more reliable blogger in 2011. Like you care.

A Hiccup at Il Laboratorio del Gelato?

2010-11-15T16:04:00.000-05:00

LdG's big, shiny, new Houston Street location was scooping the sorbetto over the weekend, but not today. I was planning on a black-sesame gelato for lunch on my way home today, only to find the lab closed. There was much activity involving ladders and a large bag of either insulation or cotton candy on the floor.

Take My Cookbooks...Please!

2010-11-09T14:16:00.000-05:00

Over the last few nights, I have been overly elaborate, filling the sink with dishes and our plates with, well, some dinners that didn't live up to the hype. On Friday, I made boeuf bourguinon from a NY Times recipe recommended by a friend. What I forgot was that her mother cooks this for her, and all she has to do is swan to the table and chow down. Me, I went through three hours of blood, toil, tears, and sweat for what was, in the end, a very expensive, quite nice--nice? after all that!-- stew. (There are no photos of the boeuf, I collapsed in a swoon as soon as it was done.)
Next up was a quiche Lorraine, to use up some of the bacon that I bought for the boeuf. Just fine but another recipe-following experience. Trying to track a recipe down was quite a trip. Every cookbook spitefully told me that, of course, a real quiche Lorraine involves no cheese at all. No cheese? No thanks. Experts be damned, I threw a ton of Gruyere in that sucker and topped it with some grated Parm.
This brings us to last night. After a couple of sort-of French meals, I woke up (yes, I think of dinner the moment I awaken) with a craving for spice and pork. Looking up a recipe in 600 Curries, an exhaustive and intelligent cookbook, I found an off-beat Pork Vindaloo that resembled in no way the vindaloos that I have had on what remains of East 6th Street. That's when I should have realized that what I was craving was an inauthentic vindaloo and just winged it.
But no, I made a paste out ten or so ingredients, cooked that to dryness in the pan, added the pork and coconut milk and cooked it for the requisite time. It tasted raw and harsh--not spicy-good, just harsh. I added more coconut milk, cumin, and curry leaf, and had to cook it for ages to reach a level of acceptableness before serving. I'm sure the fault lay in me, as I had to do a last-minute substitution on the pepper front, but I was bummed nonetheless.
Tonight, I'm using the beef leftover from the stew, and making a pasta sauce out of it. And I won't be opening a single cookbook to do it.

So, the Balance of the Bird

2010-11-08T15:01:00.000-05:00

There was risotto that was a bit too dry, as I tried a new method. Dumb move, perhaps, but lots of butter and cheese saved the day, as it so often does.
There was more chicken salad.
There were chicken and rice patties.
And there was, and is, an enormous amount of stock.
So, ten or so meals thus far out of a $5.30 bird. Not too bad.
Will catch up with you guys tomorrow, have been buried in endless--and strange--copyediting, but I have been doing some interesting eating both in and out. Lots to catch up on, starting tomorrow.
Pork vindaloo tonight.

Big Bird, Day Two: Not Very Chinese Chicken Salad

2010-10-29T15:59:00.000-04:00

After dealing with the pan in which I roasted the big fat chicken, as well as myriad other dishes, I decided that day 2's dinner should involve a minimum of cleanup. So, into the bowl goes mayo (light okay, nonfat revolting, don't even think it), grated ginger, soy sauce, and sesame oil. Mix and taste and add and taste until you like it. I added a good shot of hot sauce.

Chop up a good handful of cilantro, a few scallions, and the contents (well, of course) of a small can of water chestnuts. Yank some chicken from the carcass, and shred with your hands. If you're squirmy about such things, a knife will do, but pulling by hand is the way to go for the best texture. Stir all of the foregoing into the box and mix thoroughly.
To serve, top with some pomegranate seeds that you happen to have lying around in the fridge. Ring with a crown of slightly broken chow-mein noodles. Unnecessary, I know, but I'm from the if-a-little-is-good-more-is-better school. You should see my clothes.

Two Smallish People and One Big Bird

2010-10-28T16:17:00.000-04:00

Since the Rangers were playing last night, I wanted to make something for dinner that would require little attention. Like takeout. Since I'm trying to be fiscally responsible for at least the next year, I didn't want to go down that overpriced road. Ah, but what did I espy in our local Key Food? A seven-pound chicken for $5.31. Game on.

I'm not going to elaborate on roasting a chicken; if you don't know how, you probably don't want to know how, and what brought you here anyway? (Rubbed with oil, filled with shallots, dried cherries, spices added to all surface. Start hot, finish lower. Ta-da.) What I am planning on is recording, for however long it takes, what we do with the rest of that chicken. We finished off our favorite bits, the legs/thighs last night, and are now confronted with a great deal of white meat to use up. I'm planning some kind of pseudo-Chinese salad (complete with chow mein noodles from Streit's tonight.

In the meantime, here's the shredded chicken I had for lunch, with mayo, hot sauce, and cumin, on the amazing Magic Pop Cracker, topped with yellow Peppadews. (I had popped the succulent oysters into my mouth some time before noon.)

And after all that, I should've made something complicated, like risotto. The Rangers were awful.

Thanksgiving Foreplay

2010-10-21T15:17:00.000-04:00

Found the two items above at Trader Joe's the other day. The pumpkin spread is creamy and mellow, redolent of warm spices; the cranberry-apple butter is bright and sassy. While each is yummy on its own, using them together with a little seasoning creates a little foretaste of Thanksgiving, not to mention the other face-stuffing holidays.

Follow closely: This could go terribly wrong in inexperienced hands. Spread a cracker (or toast, or a buttered English muffin) with the Pumpkin Cream Cheese Spread. Sprinkle with sea salt. Drizzle with some Cranberry Apple Butter. Dust with poultry seasoning, preferably Bell's, or use a little crumbled dried sage. Consume while being thankful that, unlike on that Thursday in November, there will only be a knife to wash.

Summer-Autumn Overlap at Union Square (Plenty of Seating)

2010-10-20T15:28:00.000-04:00

Summer is morphing into autumn extremely slowly this year. Corn and squash are costarring right now, while choruses of cherry tomatoes sing out from baskets in every corner of the market. Tourist and New Yorkers alike form an appreciative audience sitting in Uncle Mayor Mike's popular little plaza on the northern edge of the market to enjoy the bounty of this overlapping harvest. Oh, wait...

(See my story today on Moroccan m'smen at Union Square.)

Burger Queen for a Day

2010-10-14T11:16:00.001-04:00

On Monday*, I made what was most likely the best burger I've ever made. What troubles me about this--aside from the fact that from now on, everything is downhill--is I'm not at all sure why it was that good.
1. I don't usually buy ground meat from Key Food unless it's for something that's going to be cooked well done. This time, I had no time, told myself I was being silly in the first place, and bought a 1 pound package of ground chuck, making for burgers at around 1/2 pound each. Bigger than that is kinda revolting, not to mention hard to handle; smaller can be way too easy to overcook.
2. I'd been doing a lot of cooking lately on a nonstick grill pan. Love it, but it doesn't quite deliver the char you want surrounding that rare, beefy-red interior. Since I also wanted to fry some onions for topping the burgers, I used a well-aged cast-iron skillet, which retained a bit of the oniony flavor to pass on to the patties.
3. Used a splash of Worcestershire along with salt and pepper, nothing else. I also remembered to add the crucial dent, using my knuckles, on top, so that patties wouldn't puff up.
4. Placed them on the searing hot pan, making no attempt to turn them until they released from the surface. Too soon, and they will leave their crusty goodness on the pan. I've done that once too often.
5. The cheese, ah yes, my most frequent downfall. I love cheeseburgers. I love them so much that I've tried every which way to make them work. The usual way, that is, throwing on the cheese at the last minute, either resulted in half-melted cheese or overcooked burgers. I spent a year or two messing around with other methods, like stuffing the cheese inside the burger, a la Minnesota's Juicy Lucy. It didn't work for me: the cheese either leaked out, making an unholy sticky mess on the pan or I didn't use enough cheese, suffusing the burger with a vaguely cheesy flavor and oleaginous feel. Too much cheese? A blistered mouth.
The solution was so obvious that I'm almost embarrassed to mention it. A minute or so before the burgers are done, slap the cheese on, the cover with a pot lid or metal bowl. Perfectly melted cheese every time. I've used aged cheddar, blue, provolone, pepper jack, and quite a few others but I always come back to Kraft slices. So sue me.
6. English muffins? Okay, but a bit coy and brunchy. Standard-issue burger buns? Pap. My answer is the wondrous Big Marty's sesame roll. Sturdy enough to hold up to burger juice, cheese, and onions, coated with so many sesame seeds you can barely see the bun. Roll royalty. Toasted on the inside only, using my toaster, the world's slowest, on the bagel setting.

What did the trick: One, some or all of the above? Or, was it, as the ineffable Irma said, a kismetburger? I won't know until I try again, which should be sometime soon.

*Not this past Monday, or even this past part Monday. Started writing this about a week ago. Lousy fall cold left me disinterested in food and life in general.

It Doesn't Have to Be Purim!

2010-10-04T13:50:00.000-04:00

And, to quote an old Levy's Rye Bread commercial, "You don't have to be Jewish!"

Celebrate this rainy day--and one of the last old-school bakeries in the neighborhood--with hamentashen from Moishe's on Second Avenue.

The Return of Coney Island Native Bonomo Turkish Taffy

2010-10-04T13:03:00.001-04:00

See my NY Daily News story, "Oh, Bonomo!" here.

Eataly: A Fine Grocery

2010-09-24T13:04:00.000-04:00

Eataly is in the eye of the beholder: In the past couple of weeks, it's been called an indicator that the recession is ending, a sign of the apocalypse, and a doomed celebrity showcase. Given that I'm neither an economist nor a soothsayer, all I can tell you is this: Eataly is a damned fine grocery store. It may be fifty times larger than the Italian groceries that my mother sent me to, but it is a grocery store all the same. (My mother refused to go into one herself because she thought that the Parmesan smelled like baby puke. I thought it smelled like heaven.)

Yes, Eataly is sprawling and somewhat oddly laid out. The center of the store is filled with tables--served by a variety of restaurant stalls that I hope to investigate on a further visit--occupied by diners and winers chatting and observing the passing scene. Charming enough, but stick to the perimeter, where the actual food departments live. It is sometimes clogged with tourists and gawkers; as with Dean & DeLuca and H&M, weekends are best avoided.

While there is an unending riot of Italian soft drinks and beer, not to mention the more obvious olive oils, pastas, cheeses, and spumoni (how did I miss that?), a lot of what you'll encounter is just fine foodstuffs. There's nothing intrinsically Italian--or French, or Moroccan--about a lovely nectarine. Or oysters, or lamb. Or a crunchy, just out-of-the oven loaf.

The prices don't seem unreasonable to me, or perhaps I am still startled after paying over five bucks for three onions at my local grocery yesterday. The seafood prices seemed in line with, say Citarella. I got a gorgeous mozzarella ball for $3.50. You will notice more strollers than shoppers, which should make your trip to Eataly relatively easy--I was in the cashier line for less than a minute.

Let me know if you find the spumoni!

Eataly
200 Fifth Ave (@24th Strret)

Chock Full o' Memories

2010-09-21T11:32:00.002-04:00

I have a sad history with coffee shops, at least as an employee. My first job, at an independent joint on Kings Highway owned by a fat, pig-eyed man of indeterminate Mediterranean ancestry, lasted something under an hour. My boss pushed me against a wall while I was donning my pink polyester uniform in the dank icy refrigerator room in the back. I managed to escape, but not before tossing several racks of freshly iced doughnuts into a shopping bag as I raced for the door and the B2 bus.

My next--and last--doughnut-related job was also on the three-hundred year old thoroughfare, but in a far more pleasant and emotionally salubrious place: Chock Full o' Nuts. I worked for a very different kind of boss there: a fifty-something woman with violently dyed black hair, who told me that she had eaten a Chock Full o' Nuts hamburger for lunch every day for the last twenty-five years. Alas, I would not approach her record. In fact, I wouldn't even make it until lunchtime. My astonishing incompetence in calling orders to the kitchen (perhaps I should have joined my high-school debate society, mentored by the future scourge of Manhattan, John Sexton) led to the delivery of six toasted corn muffins to one very surprised old lady. It was then I decided that my parents were correct, and that high school should remain my sole job for the present.

I didn't hold my short-lived cakery career against Chock Full o' Nuts: I was pleased to see a Chock in Hoboken but, alas, it was a scaled-down Chock Full o' Nuts Cafe. When I read that a full Chock would be opening on West 23rd Street, I was delighted.

I didn't venture into the dining area--all I wanted to score were those legendary whole-wheat doughnuts and a date-bread cream cheese sandwich. The scene was a bit chaotic, which is understandable for a place that will not be officially open until mid-October, but the decor hit every high note in my nostalgic Brooklyn soul: bright yellows, dark wood, and lots of black and white photos of a working class New York. (Not to mention black and white cookies!)

When I opened my mouth to order, a man behind me requested a cup of coffee. When the counterman turned to pour it, I sputtered angrily, "Do you just pick people at random to serve? I was ahead of him!"
He replied, "That's the owner." Oh. I wasn't sure if that made matters better or, worse, but when I turned around to meet Joseph Bruno, a big bear of a Brooklyn native whose accent was redolent of home, all I could say was, "I'm so thrilled to be in a Chock Full o' Nuts again!" Bruno thanked me, and we chatted for a bit. He had often gone to the Chock on Kings Highway, although not during the morning I worked there. He told the counterman to "take good care of her," and to toss an extra doughnut in the bag, "from me."

The doughnuts--cake, by the way, not yeast--were exceptional, with a crisp outer shell surrounding a light, slightly nutty, interior. Two for ninety-nine cents. A great deal, for sure.

Due to the large demand from date-nut sandwich obsessed customers, the place was out of cream cheese, but that's okay: I couldn't have grinned any more than I did as I walked downtown, knowing that sometimes, even in Manhattan, a place can still come along for us. Not the tourists, not the hipsters, not the SATC girls, just us. And that's more than enough for me.

(Sorry about the single crappy picture. I ate the doughnuts before I remembered to take their portrait.)

Chicken, Ginger(ale)ly

2010-09-07T11:26:00.001-04:00

The first time I had Bruce Cost's Fresh Ginger Ginger Ale, which contains actual bits of fresh ginger as well as pure cane sugar, I thought that it might make an interesting glaze. I didn't have that thought quite immediately--at the time, I was sampling the spicy-hot ginger ale partnered with rum and rum peppers. It did, however, come to me some weeks later, and I decided to give my idea a go on chicken thighs.

Start by grilling your chicken thighs--4 to 6, depending on their size, which should be relatively uniform. If you're doing this outdoors on a charcoal grill, I hate you. If you're grilling indoors on a grill pan, you might want to check out the method used here, sans the spices. While the chicken is cooking, dump a bottle of Fresh Ginger Ginger Ale into a medium pot. Add 2 or 3 chopped seasoning peppers (You may remember my mentioning seasoning peppers a while back. If your mind wandered at the time, let me remind you that they have the fruit and spice of habaneros with the merest fraction of the heat.). Drained and chopped Peppadews [yes, it's a brand name] would make a fine substitute.) I used the peppers' ribs and seeds, as well.

I added salt and pepper, brought the lot to a boil, then turned it to a medium simmer to cook down to a syrup. Tasting it after five minutes, I found that the innocent little peppers had a lot of heat in those ribs and seeds that only needed a little poaching to emerge. If I left them in the glaze, the result would have been mouth searing, so I scooped them out and set aside to use as a garnish. Five minutes later, taste again. Meh. Something missing. When what's in your pan (or on your plate) tastes flat, what's usually lacking is acid. A good squeeze of lemon brought the disparate parts together into a balanced whole. As the soda cooks down, keep a close eye on it, and stir frequently. Cook it down to about 1/3 cup and remove from the heat.

When the thighs are 17 seconds away from being done to perfection, brush them generously with the glaze, turning frequently, until the chicken is, well, glazed (or well glazed). Keep turning that chicken! Keep turning that chicken! (Warning: Not safe for work...) Remove to a plate and top with the chopped peppers. Some cilantro would have been nice, too, and I thought I had some, but the some that I thought I had had been eaten down the shore last week. I'll try it next time, though.

Blankies Optional

2010-07-20T10:24:00.000-04:00

In another step toward the complete hipfantilization of this once-sophisticated city, a Pop*Tarts store will be opening in Times Square. [Eater] Nothing against Pop*Tarts, but everything against giving all those recent and not-so-recent college grads flooding Manhattan yet another reason to stumble through the streets in their jammies.
What next, a Pedialyte cafe? With free WiFi, of course.

Pancake Lemmings, or, Another Saturday at Clinton Street Bakery

2010-07-17T13:30:00.001-04:00

Clinton Street, before nine a.m. Onto the block they march, driven by their hive mind. From Brooklyn, from Japan, from Iowa, they gather here, their temple of "in-the-know" New York, which they surely read about in an inflight magazine or Shecky's New York. Has this joint started selling postcards yet?

There are at least three hundred other brunch spots within five blocks but, no, only this one will do. They just have to eat there, so they can say they have. I ate there myself, once or twice, long before the lemmings swarmed in. I had pancakes. They were pancakes...they didn't do backflips, read my palm, ride to my table on the back of a disgruntled badger, or do anything that would warrant waiting in line at all. Particularly with that crowd.

Oh, Yummy Scrummy Summertime

2010-07-12T13:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, it's still hot, but at least now we're getting to the good stuff: white peaches, raspberries, blueberries, and plums are at every farmers market in town.

Summertime, and the Living Is Unbearable

2010-06-29T14:17:00.000-04:00

I don't want to be in the kitchen, and neither do you. It's hot, it's sticky, and I ain't making risotto, or anything that requires me to hang around the stove. And I don't have a yard and I don't have central air and I hate anyone who does. There, that feels better.

At the end of the day, though, we must be fed. In the summer, preparing food more often involves assembly than actual cooking, but that gets old fast. How many Haas avocados stuffed with Maine crab can you eat? Okay, wrong question, because any sane person's answer to that would be: Try me. I'll ask another: How many times can you face tuna salad on Triscuits? I love them both, individually and together, but I reached my limit some time last week.

One answer is to cook food that doesn't require much attention. Corn on the cob, potato salad with dill, and grilled chicken thighs with barbecue sauce. Heat a grill pan, which I wrote about on the NYDN site a while back. Follow the same procedure for the chicken, except, in the initial seasoning, use salt and pepper only. Slather thighs (the chicken's, not yours) with barbecue sauce when they are just about done. Turn them every minute or so until they've reached your preferred level of crispy char. You'll probably spend a total of five minutes tending to them. Not bad.

I make my own bbq sauce with ketchup, grade b maple syrup, brown sugar, Coleman's mustard, and chipotle. Twice as much ketchup as maple, after that, it's all to taste. Cook it down a bit, then let it cool to allow the flavors to meld.

The potato salad is a breeze, and god knows we could use one. Halve as many new potatoes as will fit in a basket steamers. Steam until tender, which will be a lot quicker than you might think. Let cool, and toss with chopped dill, chopped pickle, minced shallot, mayo, and mustard. I like a little hit of pickle juice, too. Don't stint on the salt and pepper.

All I'll say about the corn is that it had better be fresh, as in picked today, and that you'd best not shuck it until the water is boiling. Into the pot and out in 3 minutes or so. Butter, butter, butter.

The fine fat chicken thighs were a bit over three dollars. The dill was four bucks. Staggering.

FloFab? Fie on you, NeYoTi!

2010-06-02T10:40:00.001-04:00

Florence Fabricant has been a respected New York Times contributor for nearly forty years. She is now writing a weekly food-related advice column for the paper under a truly dreadful title: Dear FloFab. Is the Times looking for ads from iPad?

Meat and Potatoes

2010-05-18T12:35:00.002-04:00

I was in a lousy mood yesterday, so I was yearning for a comfort-food dinner. I was thinking mac and cheese, but Bruce was thinking a big hunk o' meat. Since I wanted to take my mind off my ailing cat, I decided to cook something that I never had cooked: veal chops. I've had them at restaurants, and loved them, but assumed they would be daunting to prepare. Not a bit! (And, yes, it was sustainable, cruelty-free, uncrated veal, okay?)

Of course, with meat, potatoes are de rigueur. The first step, then, was to get the baby Yukon Golds in the oven. Wash, dry. Place on a baking pan, then coat them with olive oil, rosemary, and sea salt.

Roast at 425 until the skins are wrinkly and the insides tender and creamy, about 30 minutes. (Meanwhile, take the chops, which should be about an inch thick, out of the fridge and let them come to room temperature.) Pull the potatoes from the oven, and turn it to broil. Rub the chops with garlic, then salt, pepper, and rub with olive oil. The broiler rack should be on the highest shelf. Broil 4 1/2 minutes per side, then let rest for 5 minutes or so. The inner meat should still be pink. If you are, heaven help you, a devotee of well-done meat, cook for 5 minutes per side, but I won't answer for the consequences.

I served the meat and taters with delicate little fiddleheads on the side. It wasn't mac and cheese; in fact, it was far less time-consuming to make. And pretty comforting, at that.

Sorrel Seems to Be the Hardest Word

2010-05-17T12:33:00.001-04:00

Perhaps not quite the hardest, but it is frequently massacred by people who should know better. Sorrel is pronounced like the color, not Rob Petrie's writing sidekick, Buddy Sorrell. To confuse matters further, sorrel the leaf is not related to the chestnut-horse sorrel, but to an old German word for sour, which is more than apt.

Last Saturday, when I was planning on making cream of sorrel soup, I got to the market too late; all that was left was a bunch of tender baby leaves, not nearly enough for me. This week, at the same stand, the sorrel was all grown up, sporting huge coarse leaves and a rather insolent air. Perhaps I would not be chiffonading this bunch, but wrestling it to the ground.

Sorrel soup is tartly refreshing, and can be served anywhere along the heat scale from steaming to icy, generally in inverse to the weather. The day was relatively warm, so I decided on a lightly chilled soup.

First, peel a medium baking potato and cut it into smallish chunks. Next, chop about 5 good-sized shallots, totaling about 1/4 cup. While that was going on, melt a lump of butter (2 tablespoons or so) in a large pot. When the butter starts to bubble, turn down the heat a bit and added the potatoes and shallots.

While they're heating, chop up five large bunches of sorrel, discarding any thick stems or brownish leaves. Add to the pot, stirring as they soften. Bite into a leaf: You'll get a real citrus punch! Once the leaves are wilted, pour in about five cups of chicken or vegetable stock, bring to a simmer over medium to medium-low heat, and cook until the vegetables are quite soft, from 25 to 40 minutes, depending on your, stove, your pot, and how you chopped the vegetables. Soup is very forgiving.

Remove from the heat and let cool a bit, so that you don't burn yourself during the next step, which is pureeing the soup using an immersion blender or food processor. Leave it a bit chunky , if you'd like, which is better for hot soup or puree it more thoroughly for cold. Return to the heat, add a cup of heavy cream, bring it to almost, but definitely not, a boil, then turn off. If serving hot, season and serve. If serving cold, season more vigorously (cold turns down the temperature on spices), and chill. Don't shove it in the fridge right away, though, as doing so can quickly bring your fridge's temperature down to an unsafe level.

I like to garnish this soup with very thinly sliced young radishes, and serve with popovers.

Pearls before Swine Pasta Smackdown

2010-05-13T10:09:00.000-04:00

Pasta versus antipasta death match.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes, Everywhere: Help Me, Alan!

2010-05-12T12:04:00.000-04:00

Since when did cupcakes become a major food group? Since Sex and the City, that's when. I've nothing against a cupcake a year or two, but these seemingly insidious little snack cakes are marching over the landscape like little frosted storm troopers. Two cupcakes stores in Chelsea Market? I wouldn't be at all surprised to see the food mall's name changed to Cupcake Market any day now.

I was going to further document the phenomen, but then--mirabile dictu!--Alan Rickman strolled by, and my mind instantly turned to thoughts of a very different sort of treat.

More on Baohaus: Old? Ugly? Stay Away!

2010-04-27T11:53:00.001-04:00

Eddie Huang, owner of Baohaus and the impending Xiao Ye, clearly doesn't like older people, or plan on getting older himself. His statements are vile (not to mention discriminatory); I will never go near an establishment of his again. [Eater]

Baohaus, or, wherein I disagree with every other NYC food blogger

2010-04-26T13:28:00.000-04:00

I'd been planning to go to Baohaus for some time, but kept putting it off due to a sense of unease. Frankly, I was shying away from it, because Baohaus's pork bun was being cried up as the only pork bun now worth eating, and, oh, how deluded, nay, misguided we had all been before this charming little place came along and led us to the light. Really?

It's a Taiwanese style bun; that is, it's more like an open-faced sandwich that the jelly-doughnut style pork bun that most of us are accustomed to. Yes, the place is adorable, the people are charming, and the quality of the ingredients in the pork bun is impeccable, even though the tasty pork was so chewy that I had to shred it with my fingers. But $4.50 for a two-bite bun? That's one expensive little snack.

I'll stick with the likes of Mei Li Wah, where I can get a super pork bun that serves as a meal...for about a buck. Or stay closer to home, where I can get two plain slices for $4.50. Maybe it's me, maybe it's the changes in the neighborhood, but I'm altogether tired of being offered tiny things for big bucks.

Wednesday Food Roundup

2010-04-14T13:10:00.000-04:00

Sam Sifton reviews Nello, a restaurant that most can't afford, at which the food is inedible. Sign me up!
Our friends at Serious Eats talk about Pylos, one of my favorite EV restaurants. Don't miss the fries, which are redolent of oregano and cheese.
Now that spring has come to NYC, you should be checking Lucy's Greenmarket Report at least three times a week--she'll tell you what's new and who has it.
A 135 year tradition ends, as Maine's last sardine cannery closes its doors, as reported by the San Luis Obispo Tribune. Another rural way of life ends. Sad.

Peach Ginger Sorbet from Ciao Bella

2010-04-13T13:05:00.000-04:00

This peachy, gingery (she said, stating the obvious) sorbet, is riddled with chunks of ginger. Breakfast of champions, particularly with the rather good California strawberries now coming into market. There are tons of other intriguing flavors on the Ciao Bella website that don't seem to have made it to local stores; I hope that this one is the first of many.

Led Zeppole, Indeed

2010-04-12T09:28:00.001-04:00

I truly wanted to like the zeppoles at Led Zeppole for couple of reasons: First, I was raised on a diet of bad puns. Second, I was a child at a time in this country when the Campbell's Soup kids were the physical ideal: I was considered underweight, and thus was allowed a bag of zeppoles from a Nostrand Avenue pizzeria a few times a week, after I'd already burned off twenty million calories in the adjacent playground. I love zeppoles.

On the other hand, I love pizza, and I had earlier found the eponymous pizza at LZ's companion joint, Artichoke Pizza, to be a gloppy mess, tasting as though cream of artichoke soup had been dumped on chewy, chewy mozz. (In fact, when I realized that I had been chewing the same piece of cheese as though it were Bazooka for two avenue blocks, I gave up on the whole enterprise.)

Fitting right in with the current notion that more is better and too much is fantastic, the zeppole were coated with so damn much powdered sugar that, when I pulled one from the bag, my poor camera was showered with so much sugar that it looked like a tiny snowdrift on a strap. The inside was doughy and heavy, likely in part because they were so supersized (see more is better, above) that they couldn't cook all the way through.

Since this place is positioned (open until 4AM) in large part to fill the bellies of drunken revelers, not only with zeppoles, but fried Oreos and fried cream puffs, I'm sure they will do more than fine without .my approbation. Me, I'll head back to Brooklyn to find the ideal zeppole, and maybe have another go at that seesaw.

Does This Thai Match?

2010-04-07T13:02:00.002-04:00

[Having a hard time trying to balance this blog, the NY Daily News blog, and copy editing cookbooks. I'm trying to come up with some kind of rotation by which none of them is neglected for too long. We'll see. One good thing for With Leftovers is that I can't barrage the News with stuff from lower Manhattan without end, so I think a lot of that stuff will wind up here, which is largely read (read? really?) by people hereabouts.]

I really miss Thai on Clinton. It was our go-to on nights when I was in too bad a mood to cook, a rare thing, or there was something super important going on, like the Rangers playing the Ducks. (That lamest NHL team name ever, except for collective names like the Colorado Avalanche. The Rangers had a t-shirt a while back that said I Am A Ranger, translated into all the different languages spoken by the guys on the team How do you do that with a collective? You don't, that's how).

ToC was bought out by a chain, which promptly dropped my favorite, peanut dumplings. Soon, the food went altogether slipshod, and we stopped ordering. This was followed by Eastern Parkway or Road or Bypass; it was not open long enough for its name to register. There was a fair bit of blog chatter about it, but it sank without trace in less than a month.

Now, we have Pa-Plern, which opened last week. Ordering was a struggle, as the phone-order taker had little English. She called us back three times to explain things about our order that I might not have understood that I had already explained I understood. Repeatedly. It was rather entertaining, but it won't be next time.

We ordered three apps from the Appetizer Sampler menu (3/$13, 4/$16. 5/$15): peanut dumplings (yay!), curry puffs, and crispy basil duck roll, as well as beef satay and summer rolls from the regular app menu.
The entire order, save the summer roll, was jumbled together unappetizingly in a single takeout container. The sauces were thoughtfully labelled to indicate what went with what, though, a nice little touch.

Peanut dumpling was first up. Smaller, sloppier than ToC, but still quite tasty, with that wonderful glutinous mouthfeel. I could eat a double order of these for dinner, and probably shall quite soon.

The beef satay ("satae" on the menu) was two large strips of beef with the usual peanut sauce. I would have preferred four smaller strips, and wound up tearing them in half, but the meat itself was tender and not overcooked. A bit more char would have bumped it up.

Curry puffs were tender and mild, with a delicious (but perhaps not altogether appropriate) hoisin-ish sauce topped with peanuts.

The crispy basil duck roll looked more like a Turkish sigara boregi than a roll. It was nice and crisp, the duck a bit dry, but reasonably well flavored, except for the curious muteness of the basil.

The vegetarian summer rolls were a mess. They were poorly wrapped and flavorless, and their primary component was iceberg lettuce. One contained tofu, the other didn't. They fell completely apart at first bite.

Throughout the meal, I tried to keep in mind that the place had been open less that a week, and that it had returned peanut dumplings to my life. I look forward to Pa-Plem passing through the usual new restaurant growing pains, and turning into a regular go-to to go.

Food Behaving Excessively

2010-03-26T10:15:00.000-04:00

The Guardian--and its entertaining roster of commenters--take on the excesses of presentation.
More excess: Ed Levine, of Serious Eats NY, reviews the oversized, verging on ridiculous, Pulino's, a pizzeria with a social pecking order, which guarantees I won't be visiting the joint.

The Kitsap Sun (I love saying that; sounds like ketchup), brings us food excesses of another kind.

There goes the neighborhood. Again.

2010-03-24T11:18:00.001-04:00

My friend EV Grieve gives us a perfect example of how one trendy restaurant can take an entire neighborhood down.

In the Bahn Mi Zon

2010-03-23T12:36:00.000-04:00

Stopped into Bahn Mi Zon, a sunny little Vietnamese place last Saturday, that swoonily sunny day that would have made eating anything heavy seem heretical. The space is small, but airy and welcoming; the walls are covered with photos of Vietnam and Cambodia that are both astonishing and charming. Jazz tootles in the background.

We got an order of summer rolls, which we watched being made directly behind the counter. This may seem like a small matter, but I have had far too many summer rolls that were tough of skin and tired of filling because they had been sitting in the fridge since seven in the morning. These rolls were tender and fresh, packed with herbs and sparkling. As a snack for two people for $4.50, they are hard to beat. My only complaint was that the accompanying peanut sauce was mild enough for a PBJ. A spoonful of hot sauce set that right, and I contentedly ate on the bench outside, contemplating the promise of summer.

Ban Mi Zon
443 East 6th St (at Ave A)
646-524-6384

Oh, Bonomo!

2010-03-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

Saw the word bonobo and, instead of thinking of peace-loving primates, I think of taffy, which is pretty much how my mind works most days.

NPR Has Me Feeling Green (and not in a good way)

2010-03-17T10:37:00.000-04:00

Before I d before I blow a gasket, memo to NPR's The Takeaway's (and I wish NPR would take it away) John Hockenberry: Guacamole isn't Irish; neither are the disgusting green milkshakes you are featuring on your website. It's all gross, unimaginative, and a more than a little bit insulting.

The Last Roast of Winter

2010-03-12T13:52:00.000-05:00

Two days ago, during the false spring, I made Caesar salad, now, in the cold and dank waning days of winter, I'm roasting a rather large slab of pig. Not at all unhappy about this, as I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I see days ahead of pseudo pulled pork, pork fried rice, bean, and other dishes requiring little time and energy from the cook. But first I have to roast the pork, and I am running late. Should take less than two hours to cook, but that doesn't count the time it takes to heat the oven and season the meat. I really should have come straight home from Key Food, but that didn't happen. If you're a freelancer, you know that sometimes the call of some semblance of a social life overrides any other considerations.

Poke the pork, which is a 3 pound boneless center cut, all over with a sharp knife, then shove garlic slivers into the holes. Rub all over with salt and pepper. With a smaller piece of meat--or more than two eaters--I would use more intriguing spices, but I want the leftovers to be adaptable, not assertive. Place in a roasting pan, fat side up, then into a 450 oven. Pour a half cup of ~~red wine~~ Samuel Smith's Organic Cherry Ale that just walked in the door with Bruce over the meat.

Cut some russets in to eighths, then in half. Toss with olive oil, salt, pepper, and rosemary. After twenty minutes or so, douse the pork with more liquid (I've finished the ale, so it's time for red wine for me and the pig), and lower the heat to 325. After 15 minutes more, put the potatoes in the oven.

Take deep breaths, then turn to the choux a la creme (creamed cabbage to you, mac). Shred half a green cabbage, toss in a wide pan with a couple of tablespoons of butter. After 15 minutes or so, as it starts to soften, sprinkle with caraway seeds, salt and pepper, and begin feeding it heavy cream, maybe a quarter cup at a time. Stir occasionally.

Keep dousing the pork (you will probably use a total cup and a half or so of liquid). Flip the potatoes as they brown. The cabbage will be done when little liquid remains an it looks elegantly suave with cream. (Depending on the depth of your love for cream, you might use could be one-half to one full cup.). The cabbage will likely be done first, with the meat and potatoes following not long thereafter. The meat is done when its internal temp reaches 150, about an hour and 45 minutes. Let meat rest for ten of fifteen minutes. Check the potatoes for doneness. Pour liquid from pork pan into a pot. Cook down until glossy, adding a bit of thickener (I adore Wondra), if you'd like. Slice, serve with gravy, and look forward to days of porky goodness.

Food Day Roundup

2010-03-10T15:54:00.000-05:00

New York is now a coffee hotbed, according to the NY Times. Oh joy. (I just don't get it; I have my two cups of Bustelo in the morning, and I'm good.)
Via the Guardian, human breast milk cheese at a NYC restaurant. Ewww.
From our friends at Serious Eats New York, sushi pizza. That's not gonna fly in Bay Ridge.
And from one of my favorite papers, The Scotsman, a look at robofood. Hey, at least robots don't lactate.

Go Away, Little Boy

2010-03-09T10:23:00.001-05:00

It wasn't bad enough that we had to choke down the treacly account of Amanda Hesser's love life in "Cooking for Mr. Latte," in the NYT magazine, now we have the micromanaged parenting of "Cooking with Dexter," featuring the culinary stylings of a five-year-old. I skimmed Latte, I skip Dexter. Memo to Times: No one cares about other people's children.

Food Day Roundup

2010-03-03T12:00:00.002-05:00

I'm really not getting Sam Sifton's style. In following the slightly camp and very much out Frank Bruni as NYT restaurant critic, he seems a bit desperate to come off as hypermasculine. Not digging it thus far.
On the other hand, the NYT's Mark Bittman is my kind of guy. One of his latest recipes, for an improvisational Yakisoba, will be hitting my frying pan tonight.
The world's best pizzas sure as hell don't look like pizza to me. [NJ.com]
It seems to be rather a slow day for food news, and I'd rather be obsessively tracking the approach of the NHL's trade deadline, anyway. Here's a Boston Bruins commercial that comes pretty close to combining my two chief obsessions: food and drink, and hockey. Funny, too.

Best Commercial Ever

2010-03-02T12:45:00.003-05:00

Might be moderately unsafe for work, if you work in a stuffy joint. Otherwise, enjoy!

Words, words, I'm so sick of words--E. Doolittle

2010-02-25T12:04:00.010-05:00

Seems all us food bloggists have words on the brain this week. Better than fixating on how long it will be before we'll see a local strawberry, I suppose. I went on a rant earlier in the week about cutesie usage; the Chicago Trib takes on mispronunciations, which the Guardian then picks up and runs with, doubtless doing something ~~soccerish~~ footballish in the process.

Food Day Roundup: Olympic Robot Cupcakes

2010-02-24T13:15:00.000-05:00

Obligatory Olympics-related food story here. [Vancouver Sun]
Another food/Olympics story, this one featuring an awesomely weird-looking beet dish.[Toronto Globe & Mail]
The New York Times inexplicably runs a Science Tuesday story on Wednesday. (Do you have a better explanation?)
Oh, dear god, no. Magnolia Bakery opens an outpost at Grand Central Terminal (it's not a station, Cupcakes; it's a terminus).

Think...Please!

2010-02-23T12:12:00.001-05:00

This is not your grandmother's pasta.

Bored with the usual spaghetti? Think: crunchy!

Swap out spaghetti for celery sticks. Substitute garlic with library paste.

When I saw that the NY Times had caved in on the use of "swap out" in the same issue in which they used "flaunt" instead of "flout," I knew that the world was going to hell in an even faster handbasket than I had thought possible. "Substitute with" is equally awful. There's worse, though.

Second-most annoying is the breathless, silly "Think." Thirsty? Think: Water! Hungry? Think: Food! Whoever came up with that should be allowed to read nothing but Dick and Jane for the rest of her (and I'll bet my last clove of garlic that it's a her, too) life, because that is the intellectual level of this inane phrase.

And, lastly, "This is not your hoary old ancestor's _____." Yes, everything that came before was bad. Filled with glass shards. Dusty. Raw. I even learned from a breathlessVictoria Blashford-Snell (yes, everything in Wodehouse is absolutely true), via the Independent, that ten years ago no one had heard of canapes. I guess I'm going to have to toss my 1940 edition of James' Beard's H'ors d'Oeuvres and Canapes right out the window and into a puddle.

Think: Ridiculous.

The Loss of Zucco

2010-02-17T15:25:00.000-05:00

My friend Margaret, noted bonne vivante, asked me to post this:
Zucco, the proprietor of one of my absolute favorite restaurants in New York (the aptly named Zucco le French Diner) died suddenly last Saturday, February 13th. Because this miniscule little gem (it could seat maybe 14 people) was as much about him as it was about the food, its future is uncertain. What is certain is that he - and his classic, unpretentious French bistro cooking - will be greatly missed.

Food Day Roundup

2010-02-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

I came across this Icelandic food blog the other day. I really like it: informative and full of heart.
The NY Times wants me to care about a restaurant in Arizona. I don't. They also ran a very odd article about culinary bragging. Glad I don't travel in those circles.
Struggling Maine dairy farmers go organic with MOOMilk. (via Topix)
OneIndia reports on an Italian chef's CATastrophe.

Bowder, Chisque, Bich?

2010-02-16T15:44:00.002-05:00

Sunday night, I thawed out a big container of shrimp stock, thinking it would make a great basis for crab chowder. When I woke up the next morning, I remembered that one doesn't use stock in chowder. Oops. How about a bisque? Well, no. Most bisques are purees, and I wanted those bits of crab intact. Could I combine the two? I would be winging (clawing?) my way through this one.

First, I chopped a couple of carrots, ditto celery, and half a large onion. Into the pot over medium heat with a large chunk of butter. While they were sweating, I peeled and diced a couple of Russet potatoes. As soon as the vegetables were soft, in went the potatoes. Salt, pepper. Once the potatoes began to soften just a bit, I poured in three cups of shrimp stock, brought it to a boil, then lowered it to a simmer. Looked like I was making vegetable soup. Not what I had in mind. Onward. In 20 minutes or so, the potatoes were completely soft. I pureed it , right in the pot, with an immersion blender, one of the culinary gods great gifts to home cooks, making sure to leave some of the potato chunks intact. I added a bit of hot sauce, just enough for piquance, but not for heat.

Once the pot was back on the stove, I poured in 2 cups of half and half, and an 8 ounce container of Maine crab. (A pound would have been even better. Next time.) Brought it to hot, but not boiling. Very important, unless you like a curdled mess. Now, for the most important step. Let it cool for as long as you can. An hour is good, two is better, overnight is best. This helps the crab flavor every slurpful of soup. Reheat gently, then sprinkle each bowl with Aleppo pepper or paprika.

Yes, reader, it worked. It was delicious, that bich.

Serves 4-6 as a first course, or 2 as a main, with leftovers.

Friday Videos: I Want Candy!

2010-02-12T12:00:00.002-05:00

In honor of Valentine's Day, here are some vintage candy commercials that speak for themselves. Sweet!

Tatties and Neeps, Oh My!

2010-02-12T09:59:00.000-05:00

Sorry about the week-long hiatus; I was consumed by computer problems.
Was looking for something else entirely in the Scotsman, when I stumbled upon their truly remarkable food section and was instantly surrounded by haggis. Well worth a read.

Friday Video: Vintage New York Commercials

2010-02-05T11:10:00.000-05:00

Doesn't Santa look suspiciously like Fudgie the Whale? The Cookie Puss antecedents of the traditional Hannukah cake are all too obvious.

Meet you at Teddy's? Oh, I wish I could.

I'd rather not think about foods going down the digestive chute, thanks.

What, no skin on my My-T-Fine?

Lucy's Whey

2010-02-04T14:06:00.001-05:00

Cheese, I thought I made bad puns...
Anyway (ouch), Lucy's Whey, an East Hampton favorite, recently opened a branch in Chelsea Market. It's a wee store, specializing in American artisanal cheeses. I did feel a bit too waited on, which is better than the reverse, I suppose, and the staff is certainly quite generous with both information and tastes. Chose Rogue Creamery's Smokey Blue, the first-ever smoked blue cheese. One would think that this would be a clash of flavor titans, but the light nutty smokiness seems to both temper and enliven the tang of the creamy blue. Also picked up a small bag of shelled black walnuts. I thought salad, which is really the only thing to eat when the windchill is -2.

Blue cheese and walnuts are a classic combo, but I was disappointed when I tasted the walnuts: they had an odd, funky flavor. I was expecting an uberwalnut, and was decidedly underwhelmed. Bruce suggested that I toast and then candy them. Never having candied anything but grapefruit peel before, I was good to go. I heated a little grapeseed oil in a pan over medium heat, and tossed in a handful of nuts. As soon as they started smelling toasty, I stirred in a couple of teaspoons of sugar and stirred some more. Holy nuts, they were actually candying! As soon as they started to color (and they will do this very quickly), I dumped them onto a paper plate.

I sliced up about half a jar of Rick's Picks Phat Beets. Used some of the jar's liquid--with a little chopped shallot and salt and pepper --for the dressing. Tossed in crumbled blue cheese and candied walnuts. Toss again so that the blue cheese turns violently pink. Serve with crusty bread.

Food Day Roundup

2010-02-03T11:06:00.000-05:00

In the NYT, Sam Sifton eats Vancouver, or at least the Asian and seafood parts of it. What, no Nanaimo bars?
Butterfly cheese, sheep eggs, and more, from the Hampshire Chronicle, via Topix.
According to most news outlets, everyone is giving a Superbowl party. Who goes to them, then? Not me. Pizza sliders from the Cape Cod Times, to serve at your party.

Shrimp Heads, Shrimp Heads

2010-02-01T12:44:00.002-05:00

Saturday I went to Chelsea Market, since there is not much at the farmers' market these days, and it was colder out than Gary Bettman's heart, anyway. I got to a couple of new places, like Lucy's Whey, but gravitated to the tried-and-true Lobster Place when thoughts of a warming dinner--or two--danced in my head. I've talked about Maine shrimp recently, so I won't go through all that again, except to say that this time I was cooking two pounds, so they were in the pot for about a minute. And that I added some Old Bay to the water. Okay, now we're up to speed. The shrimp are cooked; the shrimp are eaten. And there is an enormous pile of shrimp detritus quite literally staring at me. What do they want? They want to live on! Into a plastic bag they go to await their fate, which is to be reborn as Maine crab bisque.

Next morning, every shrimp scrap goes into a large pot. Lots of water, parsley, tomato paste, a peeled and halved onion, a few aging mushrooms, and salt and pepper join them. Now, I need carrot and celery, of which there is neither in the crisper swamp. It is fourteen degrees with a perceived temperature of Chilly Willy. No one is going anywhere. Bruce reminds me that Spike has carrots and celery and tons of other stuff. Shake a fair bit into the pot. Bring to a boil, skim. Lower heat, simmer for about an hour. Strain through a double layer of paper towels for a clear, reddish broth. There should be a quart or more.

I doused the crab with a tablespoon or two of sherry and set it aside. Had a nip of sherry. Now, to make a veloute. Melted two tablespoons butter over medium heat, added two tablespoons flour, stirring until smooth and golden. Slowly poured in two cups of stock. Stir until thickened. Add crab and cream. Heat through, but do not bring to a boil. I made enough for two (which I would soon have cause to regret), but it can be doubled. I had time to spare, so I let the bisque cook and reheated it before serving, which improves the flavor. Here's where we stopped taking pictures, as both cameras went wonky. Oh, well, one bisque looks much like another. Unless you drop an entire bowl of it onto the floor. I mention no names, but it wasn't me.

While the above seems like a long string of directions, making the bisque itself took less than ten minutes, an example of why it is an excellent idea always to have stock in the fridge or freezer.

Heil Garlic?

2010-01-29T12:39:00.001-05:00

More from Pizza-La. That garlic looks awfully familiar.

Friday Videos

2010-01-29T10:24:00.002-05:00

This Japanese pizza commercial starts out light and zippy, then descends into abandonment and tears.

The All-American pizza bagel. "Now, you can have pizza in the morning!" Clearly, these people never went to college.

An even worse idea: A bagel ornament that cannot possibly be hung on the tree. Don't forget the bagel varnish!

We conclude with David Sedaris delivering pizza and hopelessness.

How My Lamb Dhansak Became Meatloaf, or, Glad You Had a Nice Lunch, Hon

2010-01-28T16:18:00.005-05:00

A brisk midweek January day, and I'm thinking curry, curry with lots of lentils. Lamb, which consistently ranks in America's top ten most-hated foods, will be the anchor. I'm ticking off the ingredients that I'm out of--cilantro, curry leaf, basmati--as I imagine the kitchen filling with warm spicy aromas. I'll make a raita, too.

Then, I get the phone call. In the midst of the usual domestic blather, one offhand comment pushes my dinner nirvana right out the window. You had lamb curry for lunch? Hmm, sounds good. Suppose you wouldn't want it again for dinner, would you?

Scrambling off in another direction, I quickly rejected alternatives: no Asian, no rice, no Italian (had last night). What's left? Those foods that often appear on a real, not chi-chi, diner menu and were once referred to (and far too often) as comfort foods. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes are stars of the genre, and have been mangled beyond recognition by twenty-five-year-old food writers who think everything is made better by writing: "This is not your mother's______." Yep, everything sure sucked before you came along.

Warning: This meatloaf recipe contains a small amount of Lipton onion soup mix. I believe that those patron saints of the eighties food scene, Rosso and Lukins, had to defend themselves from the burgeoning purist movement when they used onion soup mix in their meatloaf recipe. I make fancy meatloaf (also known as pate), odd meatloaf (John Thorne's sauerkraut meatloaf), but I turn to the one that follows most often .

To two pounds or so ground chuck, add a tablespoon of Lipton onion soup mix (be sure to get a good mixed of both dried onions and powder), a finely chopped shallot, two eggs, a splosh of milk, ditto ketchup, a couple of squirts of hot sauce, salt, pepper, and aleppo pepper (optional). Mush together with your hands until you've got an unholy mess.

Sprinkle with dried, unseasoned breadcrumbs, and blend gently. Sprinkle and blend again. It dawned on me as I was doing this for probably the thousandth time, that what the meat should end up looking like is pretty much the ground beef you started with, except with more stuff in it. Not too wet; not too dry. Meatlike and moist, which will make for a meatloaf with the same attributes.

Shape the meatloaf. Mix some ketchup, hot sauce, and aleppo (or a pinch of cayenne), and spread over meatloaf. Bake on a very lightly greased or nonstick baking pan for about an hour, or until the internal temp is around 140, depending on how you've shaped it. I fancied a ring meatloaf for a time. It will continue to cook as it sits, which it should do for about 30 minutes after it's out of the oven.

Serve with mashed potatoes and frozen peas. Hold the raita.

Food Day Roundup

2010-01-27T12:17:00.001-05:00

The NYT food section is pretty much incoherent today:
Some yogaistas have roast beef; some yogaistas have none. Others like to eat on the sweaty, stinky floor. And that's the top story.
Growlers (64-ounce refillable draft beer containers) are declared to be the lastest fad, then to be older than Jesus.
Sam Sifton's review of Le Caprice begins with this:"There is a wonderful story about the punk-rock chieftain Ian Dury crashing through the place, drunk and outstanding on his cane. It ends with Omar Sharif punching him in the face." I don't even know what that means.
Oh, and you can recreate crappy fast food at home. Except that it will still be crappy, just smaller.

In other news:
Ask a Mexican, a frequent contributor to NPR, pays tribute to Glen Bell, founder of Taco Bell, in the Riverfront Times. [via Topix]
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face! Haggis is about to return to the US after a two decade ban, crows the Manchester Guardian. And during Burns weeks, too.

An Old Menu from a Bygone Little Neighborhood

2010-01-26T14:50:00.002-05:00

La Focacceria, aka Vinnie's, closed nearly five years ago. Today, while doing a little post-holiday cleaning, I found this menu under my desk. There was always a bunch of menus on the counter at Vinnie's, although I never saw anyone consult one. The specials were written on erasable wall boards, and the spellings were eccentric in the extreme. I usually ordered the sfinciune, a cheeseless onion-and-anchovy Sicilian pizza, that appeared neither on the menu nor on the wall; nor did the cheesy, meaty rice balls. Both appeared randomly from the kitchen and were deposited on the counter, near where spleen was frying for the vesteddi.

There was once a little Little Italy along First Avenue, from around St. Mark's to East 14th Street. All gone. There are tons of pizzerias, but they are slick and shiny whole-pie joints, none of whose clients drove in from Staten Island to pick up a couple of pies for a confirmation party. I miss Vinnie's and I miss Vinnie, even though he once made a grab at my left boob outside Key Food. Hell, he could have a grab at the right one if I could just have once more slice of sficiune.

Bruce Eggs

2010-01-25T13:36:00.003-05:00

During Bruce's sojourn in hail- and rain-blighted New Mexico, I realized that even I could grow weary of a nightly diet consisting of wine, cheese, bread, and leftover Christmas candy. I guess I must be growing up. I was ready to expand my single dining horizons to wine, cheese, eggs, and bread.

Bruce taught me everything I know about eggs. I came from a household where eggs--like everything else--were cooked until well done. The eggs were served browned at the edges and topped with ketchup. I loved them. The first time I was confronted with properly made scrambled eggs, I was shocked. They were moist and creamy and buttery--and utterly revolted me. Only love made me choke them down. Now, I can't imagine life without them (or Bruce, for that matter).

This is the quickest recipe in the known universe. Start the toast as soon as the garlic has started to soften.
Chop some garlic or shallots. This can be skipped, but the eggs will be poorer for it. Chop some cilantro (or parsley). Grate some cheese (Jalapeno jack that night, but almost any good melter except mozzarella will work, as will parm.) Break the eggs into a bowl. Add the cheese, herbs, salt, pepper, a slosh of some dairy (cream, milk, sour cream, creme fraiche, scallion cream cheese). Stir until well blended but don't give them a nasty beating. [Note: You can add diced peppers, leftover chopped vegetables, or ham or chicken or shrimp. Very hard to go wrong, as long as you don't add a whole turkey leg.]

Heat a good lump of butter in a medium pan over medium heat. Add the garlic or shallot. Let cook until they soften, giving them an occasional stir. Should take no longer than four or five minutes. Pour in the eggs. Turn off the heat. Fold them gently until they form large, creamy curds; should take a minute or so. Serve with well-buttered toast and a glass of wine. Follow with Christmas candy.

Friday Video

2010-01-22T10:32:00.000-05:00

A tribute to the foods of Wisconsin, ending with Cumberland's annual rutabaga festival. It picks up speed at about the 55 second mark; before that, it might be confused with a Cialis commercial.

Food Day Roundup

2010-01-20T11:30:00.001-05:00

Breaking from NYT: Children like to eat crap; they occasionally use dirty hands to do so. "Eww," say parents.
More from NYT: This is not a shrimp risotto that any Risottian would recognize. But it is healthy.
Mushroom bathing debate from the Manchester Guardian. Comments are even more neurotic than the article .
Buy an eggcream; save an institution. All info on the Save Ray's movement from EV Grieve.

Friday Videos: Space Food Sticks

2010-01-15T11:22:00.003-05:00

Great vintage commercial about a product that lingers in the minds of those who remember what was called the Space Age. I was tickled out of my cardboard satellite to see that Space Food Sticks are now available at Dylan's Candy Bar. My only question is, just how much energy do you get out of 44 calories? I would guess that that hyperactive Little Leaguer burns ten times that just eating his peanut butter stick.

Food Day Roundup

2010-01-13T16:19:00.000-05:00

Via the Voice, NY1's Pat Kiernan makes a not terribly convincing case for Canadian cuisine.
Am I ahead of the curve, or what? NYT reports on the extended Maine shrimp season.
Our friends over at Slice share some incredibly cool vintage pizza ads.
EV Grieve, indefatigable chronicler of the demise of the East Village and the Lower East Side, reports on the closing of Telephone, after twenty-two Stilton-fritter-filled years.

Bloomberg, that Salty (Hypocritical) Dog

2010-01-12T10:24:00.000-05:00

Salt-addicted Mike, who salts Saltines, wants us to shake as he says, not as he does.

Maine Shrimp Parfait, Revisited

2010-01-11T14:54:00.003-05:00

I mentioned a while ago that I had never forgotten a shrimp parfait that I had in Falmouth Foreside, Maine. I don't, however, remember the name of the restaurant, which is now doubtless Mexican or Thai or upscale Downeast anyway. The only other thing I remember about the place was that it served haddock ten or twelve ways. Rather daunting, that.
What with one thing and another this weekend, I went out looking for a pair of boots and instead came back with Cumberland sausage, salt, two kinds of preserves, cheese, Twiglets, more cheese, a mince tartlet, beets, and Maine shrimp, none of which will keep my feet warm. The Maine shrimp did fire my imagination, but it chilled quickly when I realized by just how much I had underbought. After cooking and peeling, the pound of shrimp I had started with left me with just enough to pile on a rice cake, if I were the sort of person who would do that. (No complaints, though, at $4.95/lb.)
And then there were the eggs. I swear that there were at least two thousand eggs per shrimp. Each and every shrimp, that is, because all harvested Maine shrimp are female. They begin their lives as males, then climb the biological ladder to a higher place of existence. Good for them.
What I needed was a way to stretch the shrimp, a rich, intense way that didn't involve my having to put my coat back on and walk to the corner. Could I replicate the shrimp parfait? Hell, yes. Are you going to know the difference?
The FF shrimp parfait was lovely, layered, creamy pink, and, yes, rich. I decided against layering, because we don't have parfait glasses, and I don't like to fidget about with food that way anyhow. It was a pretty thing, nonetheless, and if it wasn't exactly right, it was close enough to bring back memories of a lovely evening in Maine. That's quite good enough for me.

Bring a largish pot of water to a boil, salt, squeeze in a lemon wedge, then add the wedge to the water. Add a pound of Maine shrimp. Count slowly to fifteen, and give them a gentle stir. Count to fifteen again, and pour them into a colander. Run cold water over the shrimp to stop them from cooking to mush.Let cool for a couple of minutes.
Peel, by first pulling off the heads, then removing the rather pliable shell. When they are all peeled, give them a rinse to get rid of the remaining eggs, which are not all that appealing. Chill for a while. (The shrimp, not you. You've got more work to do.)

Whip half of a half pint of heavy cream until pretty stiff but not hard. Gently fold in a couple of tablespoons of ketchup, some horseradish, a dash of hot sauce, salt and pepper. The cream will deflate a bit. Fold in the shrimp and spoon into glasses or pudding dishes or whatever tickles your fancy. Top with a bit of lemon zest.

Food Day Roundup

2010-01-06T08:38:00.000-05:00

When is Vesuvio not Vesuvio? When it's a Birdbath. [JV]
The Veselka, mercifully, remains the Veselka. [NYT]
Grim outlook for Florida fruit and veg. [FN ]
So, monsieur, when did you stop injecting your mice? [WoM]

Yeah, But Can She Balance a Blade on Her Ear?

2010-01-04T11:26:00.007-05:00

Top Chef
The kitchen radio, which sits on top of a bookcase full of cookbooks and kitchen implements, was plugged in. In order to make toast, I had to unplug the radio from the extension cord, which was twined around a stool that had no business being there, bend down, and plug in the toaster, which sits a mere three feet away on the windowsill. Easy for one of my grace and agility. All was going more or less to plan, when I felt a small explosion in my right ear, followed by heavy pressure . I was bent over facing the floor, afraid to move, as I was pretty sure that a large glass measuring cup was also balanced between the bookcase and my neck. Bruce ambled in (odd occurences involving me and inanimate objects are distressingly common around here) and reported that the ultrasharp Cuisinart blade, which had been stored in the measuring cup, was curled around my right ear. He lifted it off gently (the blade, not my ear). Nary a nick. The measuring cup escaped without injury.

Hangover Helper

2009-12-31T11:05:00.001-05:00

The kids over at Three Olives Vodka asked me to remind you that the only cure for too much cheap champagne on New Year's Eve is a healthy, vitamin-rich bloody mary on New Year's Day. If you're so riddled with the jimjams that the noise of a spoon hitting a glass makes you shudder, Three-O Tomato vodka can help you on your way back to a happy, productive life: It's already infused with tomato, pepper, horseradish, and spices. All you need add is lemon and tomato juice, both of which are blessedly silent. I'd pass on the celery stick, though.

Square Roots

2009-12-30T14:07:00.002-05:00

My mother never liked to cook, and would much rather have been doing something more pleasurable, like ironing, at which she excelled. I'm sure I was the only kid on the block who started the day wearing underwear still warm from the iron. I'm not casting any aspersions, mind you. Edna worked a full-time job, and cooking was just an added burden, not a pleasure. I'm sure she heaved a great sigh of relief when I was old enough to toast my own damn frozen waffles.

What she did like was pleasing my father. And what he liked, inexplicably, was Spam. He liked it plain, he liked it fried (these days, in Florida, he likes it "lite"). How or when this led to square meatballs, I can only guess, but by the time I was ten , the only meatballs I ate at home were squares of fried Spam, served in Spatini spaghetti sauce. I knew that there were round meatballs out there, big and messy and spicy, but it would be a few years yet before I would be picking at leftovers after school in the kitchens of the Guidarellis and the Ricciardis.

Still...it wasn't all that bad. Could it be updated? Should it be updated? One recent afternoon, looking over the slice of Polish meatloaf I had just bought from the Ukrainian butcher, I decided that it could. Spam comes from SPiced + hAM, which is what Polish meatloaf is, anyway. In homage to my Marine Park roots, I chose to used a jarred sauce from Michael's of Brooklyn, a restaurant located a few blocks from the ancestral home.

Cut the meatloaf into cubes, heated some butter and olive oil in a pan over medium heat, and tossed in the meat. Brown them on all sides, about 10 minutes total (yeah, like anyone is actually going to do this), remove them from the pan and set aside.

More fat, if needed, to fry chopped onions, garlic, shallot until soft and aromatic. Add a large jar of good-quality sauce (Rao's is another favorite of mine), and a very healthy slosh of red wine. Add some oregano, red-pepper flakes, whatever tickles your fancy--this ain't a classic recipe. Simmer until thick.

Add the square meatballs (I think it's fair to call them that at this point) to the sauce and let simmer for a few minutes to let the flavors meld. Toss in some chopped parsley and parm. I ladled it over Italian bread,topped with more parm and parsley, but its spiritual home is spaghetti, overcooked for extra authenticity.

Sigmund Pretzel Shop and Luke's Lobster, A Couple of 2009 Faves, Revisited

2009-12-29T12:32:00.002-05:00

Sigmund Pretzel Shop, which I talked about not too long ago, has made it onto my list of happy places; a happy place being defined as a store/restaurant/bar that you know you will leave feeling better than when you walked in. The garlic-parsley pretzel tastes--and-smells--like the sensational spawn of a pretzel and a garlic knot. No excess oil, lots of garlic. I passed on the dip, as the only condiment I could envision with it was marinara.

Another happy place? Yes, Luke's Lobster. Again. I'll keep this brief, for those of you who have heard enough about the crustaceans of East 7th Street for the present. The Maine Man (my husband, not Luke) and I were being a little spitty and hissy about various nothings, when he suggested that we hoof it over to Luke's and have a couple of crab rolls. We opted for shrimp rolls instead, as they were on sale to commemorate the start of Maine shrimp season. I felt we might have been taking a chance, as I hadn't had perfectly sweet, diminutive Maine shrimp in any satisfactory guise since eating a shrimp parfait somewhere in Falmouth Foreside (I once made an unfortunate slip and called it Falmouth Foreplay) in the 1980s.

It was our favorite roll thus far, an exemplar of how little one needs to do to Maine seafood except let its flavors sing out. Parfaits notwithstanding, of course.

Katz's, Boxing Day 2009

2009-12-29T11:50:00.000-05:00

A meeting of the denim-and-down convention, otherwise known as my tourist-riddled neighborhood. Some of them were eating slices while waiting; I can only guess they joined the line because there was a line.

The Blandification of New York, Food Division

2009-12-17T17:52:00.000-05:00

These 10 depressing closings, via Eater, which doesn't include wholesale destruction, such as happened to Minetta Tavern, even though it still operates under that name.

I'm Still Here

2009-12-15T16:41:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the long silence, have been editing a massive cookbook with a deadline of two days before Christmas. Fa-la-la. There will be a shiny new post tomorrow.

Blame Canada (for having better bagels)

2009-12-03T15:28:00.000-05:00

Montreal's bagels are like New York bagels used to be. Today's NY bagels are just a doughy lump of stodge; I last had a good bagel in New York in 1978. Read about the controversy here.

Dual Personality

2009-12-02T16:10:00.007-05:00

I love stores that surprise me, and Dual Specialty Store almost always manages to do that. Quite a feat, since I've been shopping there for twenty years. In the summer, there are swoonily fragrant Indian mangoes piled in boxes outside, and mango lassi served inside. It's the only place I've ever seen fresh turmeric, too. Someday I'll even learn what to do with it.

Dual's narrow aisles are lined with everything from chutney to ayurvedic remedies. Spices have a long, fragrant wall of their own. (Insert your own bad Spice Aisles pun here.) Opposite the spices are an ever-changing array of spicy snacks. I picked up a bag of masala banana chips, which made a just-tingly-enough (and dirt cheap) cocktail snack. Speaking of cocktails, Dual features the famous Fee Brothers Bitters, made in Rochester, NY, which I'd been searching for everywhere. Never thought to look on the Dual shelf marked "British Foods," but they carry the whole line, from peach to rhubarb (!) to cherry. I can't imagine a cocktail that those cherry bitters wouldn't perk up.

Life can't all be snacks and cocktails, more's the pity, so I picked up a package of curry leaves, which work in an array of foods well beyond the Indian kitchen. They smell distinctly of the spice blend, with an added toasted nuttiness that goes wonderfully well with winter squash. This is a tough recipe, so follow closely. Preheat oven to 375.Cut the top off a winter squash (or cut squash in half, depending on the variety). Scoop out seeds. Add a chunk of butter to the cavity. Salt. Pepper. Toss in a couple of curry leaves. When the squash starts to soften, stab the cavity flesh in several places with a knife or fork, so that the spicy melted butter soaks into the flesh. Continue cooking until soft and scoopable. Serve.

Stop by Dual sometime. It's the best kind of neighborhood grocery, where you always find something you didn't know you needed!
91 First Avenue, bet. 5th and 6th Sts.

Luke's Lobster, Crab Edition

2009-12-01T10:53:00.012-05:00

Promised awhile back that I would return to Luke's Lobster to sample the crab roll. I should perhaps first explain where I stand on this critical issue: While I'd rather have a lobster on my plate than a mess of crabs, I'd almost always prefer to have crabmeat in my bun. If it's Maine crab, that is. All crustaceaholics know the adage, "The colder the water, the sweeter the meat."
Why then, are Maryland's crabs held in much higher esteem than crabs from the chilly waters of Maine? I can only assume that Maryland's proximity to DC lends it access to the Congressional Seafood Roll Committee.
If you are in doubt, stroll over to Luke's and sample a Maine crab roll. The crabmeat will be sweet, with a touch of the ocean. It's topped with a nicely suitable spice blend that reminds me a bit of Old Bay. The other good thing about crab rolls? Universally cheaper than lobster rolls. At Luke's, they run five bucks from the small, nine for the large.

Actually About Leftovers for Once

2009-11-24T16:24:00.003-05:00

Yes, I love turkey sandwiches with stuffing and cranberry sauce and yummy turkey curry a la Bridget Jones, but it gets a little too turkeycentric after a while. That is when I'll turn to one of my favorite ways to make a leftover protein (or leftover almost anything, come to that) part of a larger picture: fried rice.
I'm sure the complicated recipes I've seen in demanding cookbooks and overwrought food magazines are more subtle, and more authentic, but I cannot be bothered with cook this, remove from pan. Wipe out pan, add something else. Set aside. The point of leftovers is that they should be easy to prepare and pique the turkey-bored eater. Fried rice is the answer to both. (It also reminds me of a time when my family--and every other family in the neighborhood--ordered "Chinks." We knew no better.)

The only advance planning you need do is to cook rice, let cool, and refrigerate for a couple of hours. (Freshly made rice is too clumpy for this dish.) It's even better if you chill it the night before, but not better enough to stress over. I once bought a container of take-out rice, spread it out on a plate, and shoved it in the freezer to rest for half an hour. Worked fine.
I'm not going to give amounts here; this is all about what you have to hand. In fact, you will probably notice that the version in the pictures is made with ham, not turkey.
Assemble your vegetables: I had frozen peas, frozen bell pepper strips (which I had never heard of until I read about them in a Bittman column), scallions, onion. You will be adding chopped turkey--dark meat, I hope? Also prepped and ready to go: coarsely grated ginger, minced garlic, neutral oil, a beaten egg, soy sauce, cilantro, and one more ingredient that I will reveal at the very end.
Pour some oil into the pan over medium-high heat, let it get well heated, add veg. Stir around a bit until they are thawed and a bit limpish, two or three minutes. Add the turkey. Push everything to one side, add a bit more oil, and toss in the ginger and garlic. As you can see, you needn't be obsessively neat about this. Stir the two until they are aromatic, about thirty seconds. Add the rice to the entire pan, stirring until it is coated with oil (add yet more if necessary) and nicely hot.
Turn off the heat, and make a little hollow in the middle of the rice. Pour in the beaten egg. Stir madly to distribute.
Add soy. Doesn't look right, does it? A bit pallid, perhaps? Even beige? The first time I made fried rice, I added so much soy to render it the "right" color that it was inedibly salty. Now, I do what some Chinese restaurants do: I add a little bit of Gravy Master. (Nearly typed Gravy Train there, not a good idea.) Toss until color is even, add cilantro, if you'd like, and serve. Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all, some fried rice!

London Calling

2009-11-23T10:04:00.001-05:00

I have always loved WWII food ads, especially the ones dealing with rationing, both in the US and the UK. Back when food was food and chefs were cooks. I wish I could visit this exhibit.

Girl's Night In

2009-11-20T16:01:00.004-05:00

While Bruce and I are pretty omnivorous, we each have our own strong preferences. He loves curry, dosa, and all things Indian; I gravitate toward anything Italian, particularly the red-sauce Italian of my Brooklyn youth. Thus, we have pasta once a week, and curry every moon or so, which I think is more than fair. Only occasionally do I get a chance to cook for myself alone, but I rarely take it. Bread, cheese, and fruit on a paper plate is my usual fare. However, this week it was a little too chilly in the apartment to think about a cold meal. I wanted Italian, but I didn't feel like pasta. Ordering a whole pizza for myself was out, as I might eat it. All of it.
I poked around in the closet and found a tube of prepared polenta. Bingo. Set the oven to 350, then cut three half inches slices of polenta, heated a tablespoon of butter in a frying pan, and tossed them in. Five or six minutes on each side over medium-high heat, until they were golden on the outside and tender within. I used a paper towel to blot up any excess butter, so that I wouldn't get splattered when I added the sauce. I wasn't about to thaw a quart of homemade sauce, so I doused them with a good jarred brand. (I'm partial to Michael's of Brooklyn, partly because I used to walk by the restaurant on my way home from St. Brendan's High School.)
Topped them with shreds of mozzarella, dollops of ricotta, and a shower of parm. Into the oven for ten minutes. Dust with more parm. (Is there ever enough? No.) They were tender, crunchy, gooey, and oozy. Perfect.
Let cool slightly. Open a bottle of wine, grab a glass, and race to the couch in time for the finale of America's Next Top Model.
Pass me the wine, would you? I've still got an hour to kill before Top Chef.

Sometimes a Pretzel Is Just...A Really Good Pretzel

2009-11-18T17:59:00.001-05:00

Finally got to Sigmund's Pretzel Shop today, about two weeks later than planned, what with illness and the lack of appetite that dogged me for at least a week after I was officially better. And a food blogger without an appetite is like a hipster without bacon: dazed and somewhat pathetic.
Having grown up in Brooklyn, I'm quite familiar with a certain kind of soft pretzel: It was doughy, salty, soggy, and, on humid days, sported a viscous coating of melted salt. Oh, and they were stone cold. We couldn't get enough of them: Filling and cheap, they were ideally suited to teenaged appetites.
Sigmund's pretzels are another story. They remind you that pretzels are, after all, bread. I got a plain salted, as I didn't want the distraction--at least this time-- of jalapeno cheddar or gruyere. versions. These babies are pretzels at their best. Light, yet not insubstantial, they are redolent of yeasty bread, the chew offering just enough resistance, the crust (for want of a better word) a chestnut brown with a toasty flavor. If there is such a thing as an elegant pretzel, this is it.
The pretzels are $3.00 each, and come with your choice of dip. I got a zesty honey mustard, a flavor for which my weakness is well known. I'm looking forward to trying the caraway pretzel, perhaps with a horseradish dip. Soon.
29 Avenue A, between 2nd and 3rd Streets.

Gingering Myself Up

2009-11-13T15:41:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack of posts, but all I would have been capable of over the last week or so was a long discourse on toast, tea, and juice. Not all that interesting. Feeling much better now, helped along by a concoction from the Maine Mixologist, called the Bermuda Triangle. One shot of Bermuda rum on the rocks, fill glass with ginger beer. Add eight drops Old Outerbridge Original Bermuda Sherry Peppers. Definitely good for what ails you. Or ailed me, at least.

Shellshocked

2009-11-05T16:49:00.000-05:00

This did not go as expected. And, except for portioning problems (sorry, hon), I really can't take any blame for it.
I had gotten the oysters shucked, because it's a high-risk enterprise unless you know what you're doing. I don't. Hindsight prompts me to say that I should've risked a finger or two. The shucking fisherman put the oysters, which were now resting on their half-shells, into two styrofoam containers, the kind that you might get take-out chicken wings in, which would work perfectly for lunch in the park or to take back to the office. I wasn't doing either of those things; I was shopping, then taking the F train home. The last time I had oysters shucked, they were sans shell, and snuggled into a plastic soup container. Unless you have a personal attendant and a car with great suspension, I strongly recommend that option if you are traveling more than a block or two.
The oysters got creamed. In an act of outrageous self-mutilation, the shells, which bounced around in their container exactly like chicken wings, cut the oysters to shreds. The mollusk gloop was clinging to the sides of the containers, the tops of shells, and itself. It was not pretty, not at all.
I scooped the contents of each container onto a paper plate, not noticing that one held ten oysters, the other six. Not my problem. I could barely distinguish one injured bit of oyster from another.
No worries, though. Once they're hit with sherry and butter and cream, who'll know the difference?
Into the double boiler they went: 8 oysters (or so I thought); tablespoon butter; dash celery salt; teaspoon Worcestershire sauce; 2 tablespoons sherry; 1/4 cup oyster liquor, except I don't have any oyster liquor because the little bastards must have sweated it off during their exertions in the styrofoam sauna, so I used 1/4 cup salty water and, no, I didn't have any clam juice handy, thanks. Cook for about a minute, until the oysters start to curl. The state they were in, they could have had a perm for all I know.
Add one cup half-and-half. Here is where the Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant Seafood Cookbook let me down with a crash: "Add half-and-half and continue stirring briskly, just to a boil. Do not boil."

The first thing wrong with this is that if you continue stirring briskly, it is going to take a long, long time to reach a boil. The second is that there is .00003 of a nanosecond between coming to a boil and boiling. Reader, I curdled it.

The finishing pat of butter and dusting of paprika did nothing to disguise that the lovely soup I had hoped to serve bore more than a passing resemblance to small-curd cottage cheese. Bruce seemed not to notice, but was quick to point out that he got only six oysters, instead of the promised eight, which meant I had ten. Which I had already eaten..

I'll make sure he gets two extra from my bowl when we have oyster stew again, something I'll be sure to remember the next time we pull up a stool at the Grand Central Oyster Bar. Hey, I don't hold a grudge.

Oysters at the Greenmarket!

2009-11-04T15:28:00.002-05:00

Headed up to Union Square this afternoon to shop at the farmers market's newest stallholder,Westport Aquaculture, a 150-year-old family business operating out of Connecticut that set up shop at the market only a week ago. The charming duo of fisherman had brought in a haul of clams, lobster, and oysters, the last of which are available to eat on the spot with a splash of cocktail sauce. Good as that sounded, I needed more than a few oysters for the oyster stew a la Grand Central that I'm making this evening. I've never made it; I'll let you know how it goes.

Iceland Gets a Break Today

2009-11-04T09:55:00.000-05:00

Via Reuters: Thanks to Iceland's tanking economy, McDonald's is pulling out. Thousands line up for a final Big Mac. I'd be happy just to get McDonald's odiferous output off buses and subways. Sigh.

Luke's Lobster Is Fine by ME

2009-11-03T14:00:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure I altogether approve of lobster rolls being available beyond New England (see rant here) but if they are going to take up residence in Manhattan, I'm glad that there are some lobster rolls like those at Luke's Lobster: Priced like Maine, made like Maine. The kind you can walk with, and eat two of for lunch. I kinda knew, from the moment I saw the blackboard listing where today's lobster was from, that this was going to be good.
It was wicked good. Chunks of claw and knuckle meat, lightly dressed, in a perfectly grilled trad bun. No fork needed. Bruce, the man from Maine, wanted to know what happened to the tail and body meat, not to mention the roe and tomalley. I expect that they'll turn up in the bisques and stews that are said to be coming soon.

As you can see, the rolls are very lightly dressed, which shows off the lobster nicely. I would nonetheless have liked more mayonnaise (available upon request), but that may just be my own mayo lust speaking: I knew for sure that the man from Maine was a keeper when I saw the quart jar of Hellman's in his fridge.

I'm looking forward to going back for a crab roll. As anyone who knows crabs knows: Maryland's got the rep; Maine's got the crab.

(Luke's Lobster is at 93 East 7th St., bet 1st & A. Limited seating, but a great many lobster joints in Maine don't have any seating at all. Lobster rolls are $14; small ones $8.)

Generation Caffeine

2009-10-30T09:39:00.001-04:00

Yunnies (young urban narcissists) live in the jittery grip of coffee. Or vice versa. It gives them much-needed energy to engage in their favorite activity...

Waiting in line for three hours for the pancake of the week..

Black Twigs Are In!

2009-10-29T13:49:00.001-04:00

The black twig, which can only be described as a cult favorite apple, has made its annual late October appearance at the Locust Grove Fruit Farm stand at the Union Square Farmers Market. Hard and tart yet sweet, this 1868 heritage apple (some say it is from Arkansas, as one of its parents is said to be Arkansas Black; others claim it for Tennessee) is great out of hand, in pies, and in sauces. It's pretty good sauteeds in bacon fat, too, but what isn't?
Twigs have a brief season--last year I missed them altogether due to a three-week flu. This year, I'm making no mistakes and stocking up early. Unless my big mistake was letting the Twig out of the bag.

Bloody Good

2009-10-28T12:39:00.002-04:00

Met friends last night at the King Cole bar at the St. Regis, which is currently celebrating the 75th anniversary of the bloody mary, perhaps invented there in 1934 by bartender Fernand Petiot. As with everything from the Caesar salad to the margarita, it is doubtful that a sure-fire history of these American classics will ever be uncovered. No matter. We were there to celebrate by hoisting a red snapper, a bloody mary prototype that doesn't contain horseradish. I would think that whoever first stirred horseradish into tomato juice has at least some claim to the title of bloody mary creator!

While the King Cole might have been the birthplace of the bloody mary, there is no doubt at all that, during this celebration at least, they serve the widest variety: twenty-one, although not every variety is available every night. Many are based on recipes supplied by establishments around the city, including Blue Smoke, Prune, Back Forty, and WD50, as this celebration also benefits City Meals on Wheels. Five of them are only available on twenty-four hours' notice. This is, after all, the St. Regis, which certainly doesn't like being rushed; a state of affairs I found rather irksome while waiting the better part of a quarter hour for my second drink.

My first was the Blue Smoke, which was irresistably described as containing magic dust. It was smokey, spicy, and quite lovely, but it was my second drink that brought on the magic, and made me forget about my original intentions . It was a bloody martini, which shared even less kinship with the blood mary than the red snapper. I checked the menu for ingredients, which I hurriedly scribbled on a napkin. A good thing I did, as the online version of the menu is sketchy in parts.

Ingredients include basil and cherry tomato (garnish), fresh lemon juice, simple syrup, Tabasco, and Belvedere Cytrus. Sound simple enough, but it combines enough sweetness and heat to keep your palate interested after the first, or even second, round, which is as far as I was willing to go at $18 a pop. Once I nail the proportions, I figure that, even with Cytrus at $42 per bottle, I can make a pitcher of bloody marties for under twenty bucks.

No picture of the cocktail, I'm afraid. I tried, but when the automatic flash (which I was sure was off) fired right into the face of the patron at the next table, I felt as embarrassed as I would had I farted in a cathedral. Speaking of farting, take a good look at the famed Maxwell Parrish mural. Get it?

Dumpling Festival Update

2009-10-27T11:56:00.000-04:00

I say it's a frat festival, and I say the hell with it.

Halloween Cupcakes

2009-10-26T11:09:00.000-04:00

Because everyone needs a scary cupcake now and then.
From Junior's in Grand Central.

The Unmathematical Lamb

2009-10-26T09:34:00.003-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, on a wintry day, my thoughts turned, as they so often do, to lamb. Something stewish, for sure, but nothing was calling to me. I was standing in front of the meat counter, contemplating the stewing lamb, when shanks caught my eye. I'd never made them before, which made the prospect enticing. After grilling the counterman on serving size, I settled on two for two. Mercifully, this exchange was early in the day, as my blithe ignorance might otherwise have had me serving dinner just in time for Craig Ferguson's opening monologue.

I learned soon after I got home and hit the cookbooks that there is no such thing as a recipe for two lamb shanks. The smallest grouping I ran across was four, so some mathematical improvisation would be required. Not a great strength in this kitchen.
Purchased: two lamb shanks, 28 ounce can peeled plum tomatoes, red wine
On hand: olive oil, chicken stock, garlic, shallot, onion, spices

Season shanks. Add a couple of tablespoons of oil to a large, heavy pot. Over medium-high heat, brown the shanks on all sides. Remove from pot. While shanks are browning, chop a large onion, a large shallot, and a couple of cloves of garlic. Add a tiny bit of cinnamon, and maybe a teaspoon of Aleppo pepper. Maybe a pinch of cumin. It's yours now, not mine.

This is point at which I ran off the rails: Each and every recipe I consulted called for mingy, stingy amounts of liquid. I like my sauce with sauce, with extra sauce on the side. So, instead of half a can of tomatoes for four shanks, I used a whole can for two, plus a brimming cupful of wine, and a half-cup of chicken stock., brought it to a simmer, then returned the shanks along with any juices on the plate, to the pot. Lowering the heat, I clamped on the lid, and strolled off, returning only to give the shanks a turn every half hour or so, for the next hour and a half. The timing is by no means exact; the shanks are done when the meat is fork-tender, and almost dripping from the bone. I degreased the sauce a bit by layering some paper towels on top, and letting them soak up the excess for less than a minute. There was a lot of sauce. Even with generous pools on our plates, there was enough for another meal, albeit without shanks. The extra went into the freezer, where it lay in wait, haunting my dreams for some days to come.

Served the shanks over polenta, with sauteed zucchini on the side. Sprinkle with incredibly poorly chopped parsley.

Fountain of Cheese

2009-10-24T11:00:00.000-04:00

I am oddly drawn to this.

Soupy Sales Dead

2009-10-23T12:34:00.000-04:00

It's a stretch for this site, but his nickname was Soupy and many, many pies were involved in the making of his show. Ostensibly for kids, his sly humor drew many adult fans as well. My mother and I both laughed at Soupy...but rarely at the same time.
Pachalafaka*, Soupy!
*A Muppet performance of a Soupy Sales song.

White Wine with Fish

2009-10-23T11:22:00.000-04:00

According to the Journal of Agriculture and Food Chemistry (via Food Navigator-USA), white wine goes well with fish because it makes fish taste less fishy. I would have thought that keeping it--the fish, not the wine-- on ice would take care of that.

Farewell to Nuts

2009-10-22T13:59:00.000-04:00

Via EV Grieve, the imminent demise of Bazzini, one of the last Tribeca oldtimers.

Sauced, with Cranberries

2009-10-21T14:21:00.004-04:00

The other night, after a mere couple of ciders, I got home a bit later than planned. It was 7:15, and I really wanted a proper dinner on the table before eight. Otherwise, we'd wind up staying up too late, perhaps watch the Yankees, then go to bed feeling suicidal because the bastards won again.
Purchased that evening, previous to imbibing cider: can whole-berry cranberry sauce, six bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs, ~~cat food~~
On hand: spices , shallots, seasoning pepper (also known as aji or dulce), red wine, stock, noodles, cream, milk, butter, parsley

First step (3 minutes, tops, if you know where everything is): Heat. Seems obvious, but how often have you chopped onions or garlic, toted them to the stove, and been given a gloomy stare by an ice-cold pan? Or maybe it just happens to me. So, put a pasta pot onto boil, heat some neutral oil and butter (a tablespoon each) in a largish saute pan over somewhat high heat, and set the oven to 350 degrees. Start the steamer to simmering. No steamer? I couldn't find mine, so I put a small pot on the stove to boil.

Second step (12 minutes): While things are warming up, chop a large shallot along with a seasoning pepper, if you've got one. If not, a little finely chopped bell pepper and an infinitesimal flick of cayenne will do. Cut up a small bunch of broccoli into stems and florets. Season six chicken thighs.* Chicken into pan, skin side down. Turn occasionally (best to use tongs,** thighs can sputter viciously), until nicely browned, 10 minutes or so. In between turns, get the broccoli into the steamer or pot. Cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Drain; leave in pot. I was going to serve steamed broccoli, but the florets were started to look a bit jaundiced and sad, so puree it is. Check pasta water, but it's probably not quite at a boil yet.

Third step (7-8 minutes): Remove chicken to a plate for a couple of minutes. Meanwhile, lower heat, drain off most of the fat, add shallots and peppers. Cook until softish, 2 or 3 minutes. Add 1/2 cup stock (water would do, just, or you could use all red wine) and a hefty slug, perhaps a half cup, of red wine. Get the chicken into the oven in order to finish cooking, in another pan or on a baking sheet. If there are any juices on the plate, add to the stock and wine. Add noodles to boiling water, which I hope you have salted. Reduce the sauce over high heat for about five minutes; add a half can of whole-berry cranberry sauce. Stir in. Reduce until a wooden spoon drawn across the pan leaves a trail.*** Lick spoon. Add salt, pepper, or whatever other spices you might find pleasing.

Fourth step (8 minutes): Break up broccoli. Puree broccoli in a minichop, food processor, or with an immersion blender with about a tablespoon of butter. Add cream, half and half, or milk, until the puree is smooth but thick. Season with salt, white or black pepper, and a tiny flick of nutmeg. Return to pan, keep warm over low heat. Check noodles for doneness; they're not. Chop a handful of parsley. Noodles now done. Drain. Toss with butter and parsley. Chicken should be cooked through. Add to cranberry sauce, turn to coat, over medium low heat.

Fifth step (45 seconds): Plate. Take picture. Check clock: It's 7:48. Congratulate self. Serve. Drink balance of wine.

*You can make this with boneless skinless chicken breasts, if you must. Skip oven step; just return the white, flavorless, yet wonderfully healthy slabs to the sauce after it has been reduced.
**I know it's blurry. Do you think it's easy turning hot chicken with your right hand, and taking a picture of it with your left?
***See **.

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