Tatties and Neeps, Oh My!

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

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

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

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

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  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?

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

Friday Videos

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

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

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

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.