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!