32 Shopping Days until Easter

That can only mean the return of green Peeps*, those little marshmallow activists, saving the world one whale at a time.
Not forgetting that Easter also means the annual quaffing of the Peepacoladas!*Amazing website.

Feeling Crabby

Since I discovered Maine crab, I won't buy any other kind. It's essential for crab rolls, which are definitely superior to lobster rolls. Last week, on that beautiful Saturday, I wanted to make crab for dinner, as a salute to the evanescent nature of spring.

I strolled over to the Lobster Place, but they were down to only one container of Maine crab--I guess other Maine expats or Maine-by-marriage types (like me) had the same idea. Headed to Citarella and picked up another half pound there. The difference was noticeable: Citarella's crab is to the left, Lobster Place to the right. While the crab from Citarella was absolutely fresh and unimpeachable, the crab from Lobster Place, reached up with its claws, tweaked my nose and shouted: "Crab! Ocean!" I found the larger chunks more appealing as well.

Given the disparity in the appearance of the two, I decided on crab cakes instead, using even less mayonnaise and few breadcrumbs that usual. The smaller and larger chunks melded well, yielding damn near perfect crab cakes. Next time I'm making crab rolls, however, I think that the Lobster Place would be my first choice.

That Wouldn't Fly in Flatbush

After reading in the NY Post that size-minus-zero Gwynnie had stopped at the Lower East Side's San Marzano for a slice, I should have known that their slices would be on the slender side, but a more meager slice I have never eaten. Perhaps it's my Brooklyn pizza perspective, but I expect a slice to be a meal. My two slices left me decidedly unsated, and my wallet lighter than expected.
I had deciding on one pomodoro (mozzarella, tomatoes, garlic, basil, parsley, extra virgin olive oil) slice, one margherita (mozzarella, san marzano tomatoes, extra virgin olive oil, basil). To my disappointment, the pomodoro was unavailable in slice form right then. However, slicers can't be choosers, so I went for the quattro formaggi (mozzarella, fontina, ricotta, gorgonzola). The other options, including chicken with pesto, were too fussy.
The slices looked a bit on the small side, but I guess I was so eager to get them home that I didn't realize how just how small. These slices are tiny. Appetizer tiny. Each slice weighed 3 ounces and measured 5 inches from crust to tip. At $3.50 per slice (slice prices are not posted in store, nor do they appear on the menu), that is not a lot of pizza.
What there is of them is so-so. The margherita was not to my taste, sweet and unsubtle. I tossed on some parm, which perked it up a bit . The quattro formaggi was better, riddled with creamy puffs of ricotta; the only off note was the gorgonzola, which shouted down the other cheeses . I finished both slices (something I haven't managed since high school), right down to the lovely crisp, bubbly crust, but I don't think crust alone will lure me back.

San Marzano Brick Oven Pizzeria
71 Clinton St, New York 10002

Big Balls in Bensonhurst

Headed out to Bensonhurt recently to research an upcoming Serious Eats New York post on the weird but yummy slipper lobster. Once done with that, I set out to explore a neighborhood I hadn't been to in forever.
First stop is a branch of the three decades old local chain, Meats Supreme, whose slogan is "Where Family Tradition Still Matters." Almost didn't go in, as it looked like a standard Brooklyn independent market (and thank god some still exist!) from the outside, and was packed with shoppers doing their Saturday marketing. That would have been a big mistake as, in the back of the store, there was a huge case of prepared foods, lots of it Italian, including two or three kinds of rice ball(I lost track, the sight of all that food before lunch was making me dizzy). I got the large, which might better have been called enormous. (Also scored a package of the elusive Thomas' English Muffin Maple French Toast, which is ethnically confused, but yummy.)
Hopped on the el, got home, and sauced up the balls, which were more packed with meat than any I've ever seen. No snack these, but a full meal.
Meats Supreme
1949 86th Street
Brooklyn

A Very Yogurt Thursday

Stopped by Daydream Frozen Yogurt yesterday. I'm really not caught up in the fro-yo craze, but I was hungry and felt I deserved a treat, because the Trader Joe's around the corner is now consistently too crowded for any sane person to enter, which has put something of a crimp in my food shopping. No thaw-and-eat edamame until the recession recedes, I guess.

Daydream's pomegranate yogurt was tart and refreshing. The best part for me was the wacky fruit dust, which came in blackberry, cranberry, raspberry, and a whole lot of other berriness. The powder is made from organic fruit; it adds an extra hit of flavor--not to mention kicky color--to your bowl. I was also impressed with the silver plastic silverware (as it were).
On a very local yogurt note, the Avenue A Key Food is selling 1 1/2 quart containers of Edy's frozen yogurt on a buy one, get one free basis, which means that each container winds up costing around three bucks. The tart yogurt and honey swirl is delicious over slightly thawed frozen berries, and will be even better come fruit season.
Daydream Frozen Yogurt
110 3rd Ave. @ 13th
NYC

Nibbles Note

Recently, I made pork chops sided by potato pancakes. Inspired by having seen the suggestion in food magazines, I stirred some horseradish into the traditional friend of both pork and potato pancakes--applesauce. Highly unrecommended. Yuck.

The Meatring

I can stir-fry vegetables to the much (over) vaunted crisp-tenderness. I can stuff a shell with the best of them. Lamb and black bean chili is in a sultry simmer on my stove even as I type. But, last week, I wanted to step back from food fetishism for a night. No consulting the bookshelf, Saveur, or even Bon Appetit. I wanted to make a cozy meal that was redolent of home and perhaps even a different century: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas. You probably have a favorite meatloaf recipe of your own: I favor one that uses a mixture of beef and pork, some Lipton onion soup mix (it's not the same without it), ketchup, chopped onions, some garlic powder, eggs, breadcrumbs, Tasbasco, aleppo, and salt and pepper. After I form it into a ring--yes, I said ring--I slather it with ketchup or barbecue sauce.

Why a ring? Because I want more crust. Don't you? Doesn't everyone? Now, every piece is an end. No fighting. (My grandmother once bought two chickens so that my cousins and I wouldn't fight over the coveted legs. There were eight of us, so everyone would get a drumstick, she said. She made great creamed onions, though.)
The potatoes were ultra-rich, with lots of butter and light cream. I splashed some cream on the peas, too, just because I could.
I wouldn't want to eat like this every night, but once in a while, during a bleak and weird winter, it's a short trip back to a happier time.

Eating, Unexpectedly

I've been having a serendipitous week. I went off looking for the very well-reviewed marrons at Tafu, but confused it with a Japanese bakery (which Tafu isn't; it's a tearoom), that doesn't exist anymore. My roundabout search led me across East 55th, whereupon I stopped in my somewhat confused tracks: There was a truck at the curb with "Papa Perrone's: Home of the RiceBall" emblazoned upon its side. Surely, this was a mirage. I hadn't had a decent rice ball since Vinnie's (aka La Focacceria) closed a few summers ago.
The rice ball I had was a bit different from the hundreds I had had at Vinnie's. It was larger, and more irregular in shape. The first bite was more assertively buttery, maybe even cheesier. And there was a a good bit more filling, very heavy on the meat and well-seasoned. They are substantial enough to be a meal, not a prelude to one. With every bite, I liked it more.
After I came down from my riceball high, I hared off again to look for the elusive Tafu. I google the address, which was that of a hotel, then paced back and forth in front of it, rather as though it were the Room of Requirement. No cookies magically appeared, however. Thehotel doorman disclaimed any knowledge of anything Japanese, perhaps because I was covered with rice ball crumbs and my eyes were streaming from the cold. Finally, he took pity (or wanted to see the back of me), and said "Oh, you meanTafu."
At $2.50 per, I expected a mind-boggling cookie. My mind might have boggled, but I am certain that my pancreas exploded from the most intense intake of sweet I might ever have experienced. Definitely not for me! The fault may be in my salt-oriented tastebuds, as the reaction elsewhere has been positive. They are pretty little cookies, though, and I'm sure the sweets-oriented among you will be very happy with them.
My day held one more surprise. I stopped at Whole Foods to pick up a baguette, my neighborhood having been denuded of bakeries some years ago, unless you include cupcakeries. As I made my way to the bakery section, I stopped at a sample table, at which tastes of wine-based sorbets were on offer. The rose was fantastic: balanced, winey, with a hints of strawberry and woodruff. Now, that's my kind of sweet--even though I was proofed at the register!