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

                                                                                              

                                                                                                    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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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.

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Luke's Lobster, Crab Edition

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.