tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72956427147017992492024-03-04T20:00:17.613-08:00baddiefishif food were a house, we'd live in it.rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-26393745377506372102008-12-10T10:32:00.000-08:002008-12-10T11:04:09.228-08:00At Last<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcux5IkaCqS17_iYt35uObA0qXTSdn3sHZNBq0igTownAnLWsnSOgoQJRYLq5dRehlhcuKi2Im_PyxJL4RszGqftzvw3nEIqVEgda1T67emM56R3-vyM2xkYFo1BilxeqeUxIl08tl1hR/s1600-h/IMG_2534.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcux5IkaCqS17_iYt35uObA0qXTSdn3sHZNBq0igTownAnLWsnSOgoQJRYLq5dRehlhcuKi2Im_PyxJL4RszGqftzvw3nEIqVEgda1T67emM56R3-vyM2xkYFo1BilxeqeUxIl08tl1hR/s400/IMG_2534.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278238579492523810" /></a><br />Moving is a terrible thing. I've just done it, and let me tell you, it is one of the most psychically stressful things you can do in this life. After two weeks of packing and unpacking, I was ready to keel over and sleep for several days at least, but I couldn't rest until I felt a sense of my home being my own--that strange assumption of self that a place takes on after a while. I knew I would feel it when it happened, and so it did, as I cooked breakfast two days ago.<br /><br />It wasn't the first time I'd cooked in my new kitchen, but it was the first time I knew where everything was--a big difference. I had eggs from my parents chickens and I'd gone to the farmers' market to stock up on basics. I brewed some coffee with beans from my roaster down the street, scrambled the eggs with some sweet little tomatoes, a little tarragon and onion, and toasted some bread. (An entirely local breakfast, what a pleasure!) Out the kitchen window I could see my neighborhood birds chatting on the berry bush. And as I walked into the dining room with my plate, I discovered the morning light, great big shafts of it, beaming in from the terrace onto the table. I sat and ate in the glow of sun, watching the birds and feeling, at last, that it was good to be home.rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-30131932891156053472008-11-03T20:21:00.000-08:002008-11-03T21:09:42.281-08:00Autumnal Initiations<div>It's officially fall here, and nothing says fall on the east coast like apple picking, i guess. so i got on a train and met some friends up by croton falls to meander through an orchard or two and see what LA could never offer me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64_VA8cHt4hs4WUjOLU833B4zYcpDv48z2STK8GAdPaTzxg4ZFwQvPG_izXtsVfPO58BXbyk_iRWOvBYMpoJJVQrKmctqieoCKDYkiv8Ax3wSGLTyGeJmKjBAbqETQu3Zi5nNIN1UrR1e/s1600-h/IMG_1175.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64_VA8cHt4hs4WUjOLU833B4zYcpDv48z2STK8GAdPaTzxg4ZFwQvPG_izXtsVfPO58BXbyk_iRWOvBYMpoJJVQrKmctqieoCKDYkiv8Ax3wSGLTyGeJmKjBAbqETQu3Zi5nNIN1UrR1e/s400/IMG_1175.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264656071962542690" /></a><br /><div>there she is, old outhouse orchards. full marks for autumnal decor. <br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6NHy5t03Y06FpfgMU5sgDF0I2WaxvnTAsz4AyCgyBdskKGzGNRpEmvqk42kzp9JGSnijoqY_p7Ms9e-SlX5kD4EwSC8zy81uRkUkEU0rtv6P1SWQbVMdvkBg0ugW1UVQ-Es_CTDYlSer/s1600-h/IMG_1179.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6NHy5t03Y06FpfgMU5sgDF0I2WaxvnTAsz4AyCgyBdskKGzGNRpEmvqk42kzp9JGSnijoqY_p7Ms9e-SlX5kD4EwSC8zy81uRkUkEU0rtv6P1SWQbVMdvkBg0ugW1UVQ-Es_CTDYlSer/s400/IMG_1179.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264655899446807698" /></a><br /></div><div>i stumbled upon these guys while we were getting our apple picking bags. cinnamon cider donuts. in a dream world i could have eaten one million of them. realistically, probably close to twenty five. unfortunately, i ended up with one due to a lack of small change. it's basically exactly what you want to eat at an orchard on a slightly brisk afternoon. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMrDJQ3QmA-DsCihyphenhyphenPTFMQkilbb7mbpBO70bQYPJQ_Z8FLnsixjrii6XXDFe_TDffT5Muwv8kG2d8bE5FRJQIrWlsOakA4SyXHY4xUDGy7jF6ruObwwclenZO4LAbSvvUOmpPgZW39tkV/s1600-h/IMG_1182.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMrDJQ3QmA-DsCihyphenhyphenPTFMQkilbb7mbpBO70bQYPJQ_Z8FLnsixjrii6XXDFe_TDffT5Muwv8kG2d8bE5FRJQIrWlsOakA4SyXHY4xUDGy7jF6ruObwwclenZO4LAbSvvUOmpPgZW39tkV/s400/IMG_1182.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264655665312886530" /></a><br /></div><div>as far as i can tell, no one is better at placing small, white ramshackle buildings in remote settings than the east coast. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXsgrYGZ3vsXp1SyC8lS7cY2eVmqmD4-Owca5RpR_NRBqQD6TmFUZ1HnhWqwKX-MCxQVhmmxhCPqAN4Sky642Lfeg5jE0I2E3zsWpU7KRX5Udt01lT7uqhjTiyAM5jkqrQ2Ik3bMYUjsn/s1600-h/IMG_1191.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXsgrYGZ3vsXp1SyC8lS7cY2eVmqmD4-Owca5RpR_NRBqQD6TmFUZ1HnhWqwKX-MCxQVhmmxhCPqAN4Sky642Lfeg5jE0I2E3zsWpU7KRX5Udt01lT7uqhjTiyAM5jkqrQ2Ik3bMYUjsn/s400/IMG_1191.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264655515741299266" /></a><br /></div><div>the ceremonial first bite. there was a good amount of variation between the apples that we tasted, although they didn't tell us what kinds they were which was frustrating. in general, i was underwhelmed by the quality. none of the apples had the explosive sweetness or flavor that i was expecting, and some of them were pretty mealy. but what they lacked in quality they made up for in quantity. by the end of the session i estimated that i had eaten more than ten whole apples in less than an hour. i was then informed of the incredible amount of fiber that apples carry in their skin, which became problematic for me later that evening.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ep4ht7kIb340HLA5vxVT2SqX8YsigHWRiZR8pp1MABPu47oNPkwm-7EnTZxK9BBzVQvrxxm0CcP-XT84GQCGzafglR9_LccZS2wrpGbtSZk6ePPEGuQUCMoeI13ZHbBw9-xsxH2vSTPh/s1600-h/IMG_1205.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ep4ht7kIb340HLA5vxVT2SqX8YsigHWRiZR8pp1MABPu47oNPkwm-7EnTZxK9BBzVQvrxxm0CcP-XT84GQCGzafglR9_LccZS2wrpGbtSZk6ePPEGuQUCMoeI13ZHbBw9-xsxH2vSTPh/s400/IMG_1205.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264655334370610530" /></a><br /></div><div>on the whole I would say my first apple picking was a success, although next year i think the apple to cider donuts ratio needs to be adjusted. at least a dozen cider donuts, please. and a glass of milk. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc8sYuDYPIDsJhM0od2C7kj34Mtj0RpxaWav8sq7P7WHBenrdGaEqyQn-h8j5xBg8nNTlnz64P9ArqJf1VnC1_TufO2TtvvNPTjy5CRzCyZiYg9rs3M9IzKgpTUpOet7vQrK60KWbw7CY/s1600-h/IMG_1175.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /> <span class="fullpost">And here is the rest of it.</span></div></div></div>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-59604530062502607992008-10-07T22:15:00.000-07:002008-10-07T22:57:17.291-07:00NYC Field Report: TJ IN BK!So I'm a little late on the follow up, but now I can write to you having visited said TJ store four times! The verdict: it can stay. I was definitely setting myself up for disappointment considering all the negative feedback I had heard about the manhattan location, but I have to say that the BK store is the best I've ever been to. Here's why:<br /><br />1. It's huge, which means it has the space to carry crazy items that even this TJ slut hasn't seen, like ready-made chicken<br />tenders (!!!!!!!!!!!) <br />2. It has an expanded bread section with what seems to be better bread than the LA locations.<br />3. They have recruited half of brooklyn to act as cashiers for the other half that is shopping, thereby making the extremely long line move surprisingly fast. <br />4. Their produce section, traditionally the achilles heel of the Trader Joe's empire, actually resembles something you would see in a full scale grocery store. The quality is still the same but the selection is much better. <br /><br />That's it, folks. For those of you reading in Cali this may seem like a stab in the back, and in many ways it is. But think of it as a stab in the back with one of those fake, retractable knives, because the TJ on burbank and white oak will always be my number one jam.<br /><br />p.s. here's a link to someone who was allowed to take pictures. me and my camera were politely uninvited...<br /><span class="fullpost"></span><div><a href="http://newyork.seriouseats.com/2008/09/new-brooklyn-trader-joes-photos.html">http://newyork.seriouseats.com/2008/09/new-brooklyn-trader-joes-photos.html</a></div>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-41683849251000324962008-09-30T01:02:00.000-07:002008-09-30T01:32:55.389-07:00Augustian PleasuresSomehow without me knowing it October is around the corner, but since I live in LA, I haven't a care for seasonality; it's still the tail end of summer here, and gosh darn it, I'm gonna write about a clambake.<br /><br />I attended my very first clambake at the end of August for my cousin's 50th birthday, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate a milestone like that than burying a bunch of seafood in a sandpit. Although kind of an elaborate and time consuming process, it's also a mightily efficient way of cooking for a lot of people--instead of slaving away in a tiny kitchen over a hot stove, you get to sit in the sun, get everyone involved, and clean up a rather fun mess of lobster carcasses and corn cobs at the bitter end. Oh, and a lot of beer bottles.<br /><br />Below, a photo essay on The Clambake (many thanks to Jeff & Co for throwing this shindig...)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI43lLaMbPas1rHjfY-ChJOTvpyoZL_dlj0x5O7hFuJgb_50Nl-rQcPUSJOgmFPoqIIiK45Xdkx11qtxyumJuOoOAvHnIew6OnTfBGDwC9TRAf1xKTlDTooacQHDDUvCVlgUYXqNJak1j/s1600-h/87830002_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI43lLaMbPas1rHjfY-ChJOTvpyoZL_dlj0x5O7hFuJgb_50Nl-rQcPUSJOgmFPoqIIiK45Xdkx11qtxyumJuOoOAvHnIew6OnTfBGDwC9TRAf1xKTlDTooacQHDDUvCVlgUYXqNJak1j/s400/87830002_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251723247066026306" /></a><br />The raw materials: two styrofoam coolers of seafood. Welcome to New England.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZuF1-hgbzzOqrJvkMY2fCI3gnG7eeYawVHZEWdJHO2-hl1ZZXAalw8i5fw8Os0n9u9TpuE_BwHFTlbT6fcNIjXOwozpefesmQ9kn63tOoI1BYjM3a7B8REYC9CJkXaWUkuUvwvK7dpw4/s1600-h/87830014_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZuF1-hgbzzOqrJvkMY2fCI3gnG7eeYawVHZEWdJHO2-hl1ZZXAalw8i5fw8Os0n9u9TpuE_BwHFTlbT6fcNIjXOwozpefesmQ9kn63tOoI1BYjM3a7B8REYC9CJkXaWUkuUvwvK7dpw4/s400/87830014_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251722920349343042" /></a><br />Someone has never seen a lobster before... Especially a live one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYl10LLJY-HELn787CuMS7EdvJqt988dQrHKIV_TncTmBxVeoAXEzjoDG-RlYrXpFb4cPLcwjMp75jhxGocZfB11QXwuIa0zHw7LbXI3AzwAC25LD_RU2qjIKYxTw63dHm0rkW8kONSU6/s1600-h/87830027_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYl10LLJY-HELn787CuMS7EdvJqt988dQrHKIV_TncTmBxVeoAXEzjoDG-RlYrXpFb4cPLcwjMp75jhxGocZfB11QXwuIa0zHw7LbXI3AzwAC25LD_RU2qjIKYxTw63dHm0rkW8kONSU6/s400/87830027_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251724256106120130" /></a><br />Covering the sand pit with a tarp. The boat is full of seaweed my cousins slashed out of the ocean with a hunting knife. The seaweed went on top of the cookables...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia473hmiBNDu2rqpq7SAsIsEYpBFZAakxjNDYbjTLY1SXJca_gD-X5ywo700uUjHh3-x4eqvBW4jUttR66Xf2CFZ-M-wghx4dJriulyCkp59o-rSYCH0EkHaGtQpZQGPBjVRn6Bl1gTGNa/s1600-h/87830020_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia473hmiBNDu2rqpq7SAsIsEYpBFZAakxjNDYbjTLY1SXJca_gD-X5ywo700uUjHh3-x4eqvBW4jUttR66Xf2CFZ-M-wghx4dJriulyCkp59o-rSYCH0EkHaGtQpZQGPBjVRn6Bl1gTGNa/s400/87830020_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251724918094884626" /></a><br />...Like so. Corn, sweet potatoes, beets, lobsters, crabs, steamers. And an egg: nature's timer. Once it's cooked through, the tarp comes off and it's time to eat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVs7sfVGqhprCO0jhGibgmxSNrpUDlnrLqJGE-HIQs9UYRVLvmkzcrLN8yBRP3CRpIJvUF7iqUiTK3L1NvPl98bGbXMnuEmmm830Qh6dB97TrCL4iZhhbGunizeppZaaO0VHkyFcus9f9Y/s1600-h/87840009_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVs7sfVGqhprCO0jhGibgmxSNrpUDlnrLqJGE-HIQs9UYRVLvmkzcrLN8yBRP3CRpIJvUF7iqUiTK3L1NvPl98bGbXMnuEmmm830Qh6dB97TrCL4iZhhbGunizeppZaaO0VHkyFcus9f9Y/s400/87840009_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251725614436041442" /></a><br />Collecting the goodies:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYE6LZbFrYFOQME6du-CN7E7neORWGuxkPVyoefRtg-TUoju0TZUeL1qCM2WF6Q5cYeALYPwXGrugQ1Y7c9q0-645219Q-WL5uAFDsO90mpUqwKfd1q9WVGoVtU8xYuJkZ23BDj2TPy-K/s1600-h/87840014_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYE6LZbFrYFOQME6du-CN7E7neORWGuxkPVyoefRtg-TUoju0TZUeL1qCM2WF6Q5cYeALYPwXGrugQ1Y7c9q0-645219Q-WL5uAFDsO90mpUqwKfd1q9WVGoVtU8xYuJkZ23BDj2TPy-K/s400/87840014_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251725912917534802" /></a><br />steamers,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkngnUMPsgN4GSuMkWsW8fcSzJcIn98zcZR-TT4J8XgD9RK5jKmqRb-I7ASsT1HFWa4FRAbmcyjYBKw8ge1TA1taiqva8PaTexMUvPiiAxv4zigZdRU9IpdBChXRaFp3JygBYCFKGzarJn/s1600-h/87840021_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkngnUMPsgN4GSuMkWsW8fcSzJcIn98zcZR-TT4J8XgD9RK5jKmqRb-I7ASsT1HFWa4FRAbmcyjYBKw8ge1TA1taiqva8PaTexMUvPiiAxv4zigZdRU9IpdBChXRaFp3JygBYCFKGzarJn/s400/87840021_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251726160647947890" /></a><br />crabs,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMn7PZ__rH5qh4L7TQuBNgyGHRfVkoHQ-H73jOnyPaFCFcw1w2871m79EH3crN8XK-JH-shjBidtAs4ZPYdeftEGGsnWNrU1voE1JdrwP1qJEU-DTuvWkms5TgoB3b_XNiWb74tZl7F5Zm/s1600-h/87840023_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMn7PZ__rH5qh4L7TQuBNgyGHRfVkoHQ-H73jOnyPaFCFcw1w2871m79EH3crN8XK-JH-shjBidtAs4ZPYdeftEGGsnWNrU1voE1JdrwP1qJEU-DTuvWkms5TgoB3b_XNiWb74tZl7F5Zm/s400/87840023_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251726410867766082" /></a><br />corn (and how!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3tHBtODXx2FqDPUACRQGyr74EvOYO5PpxNtSvshyphenhyphenHt5VCNB_QvQiTjkm1ufECaTNPfbQOkS-uPr4-jko2guiA9f07GqD7TfaHZi33dCH9qF-TazgBDubwEwp84KhJbir5s9V174W-Ylg/s1600-h/87840020_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3tHBtODXx2FqDPUACRQGyr74EvOYO5PpxNtSvshyphenhyphenHt5VCNB_QvQiTjkm1ufECaTNPfbQOkS-uPr4-jko2guiA9f07GqD7TfaHZi33dCH9qF-TazgBDubwEwp84KhJbir5s9V174W-Ylg/s400/87840020_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251726669021558418" /></a><br />sweet potatoes, <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAcmcONqHzx05TCLm16yIMeBIyRRzpOyMBWcR_z-b1Hnhltsvdl1am6pEFul7WPkbRhlhLAtfP7oo_DG94z5ivOhyphenhyphenJQoJRjVYRT0yc8OjumIfG795Ip8dwcLiuaoN52M7RZGK155Vp77Y/s1600-h/87840026_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAcmcONqHzx05TCLm16yIMeBIyRRzpOyMBWcR_z-b1Hnhltsvdl1am6pEFul7WPkbRhlhLAtfP7oo_DG94z5ivOhyphenhyphenJQoJRjVYRT0yc8OjumIfG795Ip8dwcLiuaoN52M7RZGK155Vp77Y/s400/87840026_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251726905506285970" /></a><br />and of course, lobster.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdS8uZum8Ucte0CnUDlnFQWpNmvlHvrM2fjsZrkdXepJAXC91HgsaCdTCkwrzyYvGXjS_lbw90YMb6_l7y61XAC7Q_4_zEZlJcS_7i-CUxOMr-2ozgE4ZFpS1SvrHN6V5wHXBLYeZ3Npje/s1600-h/87840028_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdS8uZum8Ucte0CnUDlnFQWpNmvlHvrM2fjsZrkdXepJAXC91HgsaCdTCkwrzyYvGXjS_lbw90YMb6_l7y61XAC7Q_4_zEZlJcS_7i-CUxOMr-2ozgE4ZFpS1SvrHN6V5wHXBLYeZ3Npje/s400/87840028_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251727171925833394" /></a><br />People didn't have to be told to get in line...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECc7A6Ym1CoVTosWEedD4sT0ULoqelO5bVstFVayBSm-Pq9-L-oea3wmVgU6X5xUoVZ403t8yAd3TcPBitHVGhc8kBVOcaUwDeikkvhk5eUAHDTEhQcYpZhtOQJ5GeKbxyPPBQV83cIFg/s1600-h/angle-on-dinner.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECc7A6Ym1CoVTosWEedD4sT0ULoqelO5bVstFVayBSm-Pq9-L-oea3wmVgU6X5xUoVZ403t8yAd3TcPBitHVGhc8kBVOcaUwDeikkvhk5eUAHDTEhQcYpZhtOQJ5GeKbxyPPBQV83cIFg/s400/angle-on-dinner.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251727568751935890" /></a><br />and who would mind waiting anyway, with a view like this?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWW3Vp-3Crs__2mWFLwxShRSDqVEVOBR1bdV4oa3L8Wjm72R6y5HELYtOvfCSKivt44C0khpns6w8FO-TA7NhhFblkTkFj9gSXxidNcIJ5PXgmzNMV7a_yCn4pdH28oH1q0AYx4YdHXnoe/s1600-h/lobster-plate.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWW3Vp-3Crs__2mWFLwxShRSDqVEVOBR1bdV4oa3L8Wjm72R6y5HELYtOvfCSKivt44C0khpns6w8FO-TA7NhhFblkTkFj9gSXxidNcIJ5PXgmzNMV7a_yCn4pdH28oH1q0AYx4YdHXnoe/s400/lobster-plate.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251727881932580146" /></a><br />My idea of a perfect meal: simple, deeply comfortable, and shared with those you love. not a bad way to turn 50, if you ask me.<br /><br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-37000241633057997372008-09-25T06:28:00.000-07:002008-09-27T07:07:12.262-07:00NYC Field Report: PrologueWe now officially have an NYC branch of baddiefish, which means two cities for the price of one. It also means this little boy has a lot of eating to do. Like, probably close to 100 miles of eating. Maybe more. <br /><br />I'm not going to pretend I'm not scared. I'm terrified. The first thing I do in a new city is try and get a handle on the food scene, and with the number of restaurants in the New York area that task can seem a bit daunting. So, with this first post I'm going to stay close to home and report on something I have a lot of experience with: Trader Joe's.<br /><br />I had heard about the Craziness from various people-- insane lines, competitive shoppers, always running out of things-- but I never truly understood until now. While I haven't experienced the Manhattan location first hand, I have been working down the street from the new brooklyn store and let me just say, the place is HUGE. It used to be a bank, so that gives you some sense of scale. People whisper about it on the street. I saw one of their trainees on the subway the other night and people were looking at her like she was Jennifer Aniston. Even I was not immune to her siren song and literally had to stop myself from shouting across the train, "What's it like inside? Will they carry Go Lean CRUNCH!?" This is all new for me. Good groceries were never more than a car ride away, and you could do huge shops because you had a car to put things in (and a kitchen with a pantry.) Now all that's changed, and after lugging three full grocery bags across town after work I am beginning to understand the goldrush that is Trader Joe's in Brooklyn. You better believe I'll be there opening day, pick axe in hand, ready to report on all the bloody madness... <span class="fullpost">And here is the rest of it.</span>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-51372320617481989982008-08-11T11:42:00.001-07:002008-08-11T12:18:58.057-07:00hippy happy!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnYswi-eB3J3tP9ccg-5SzgKX15x-tD5_hv0pQdUya4CzdW_oJOdcICvwgph-swCrtolFnGVSDFOrNin0FFmaErcBNNhzrxW0V2RPUzvEsZ5XpDc_n1g5GABl3vr9K_IaW4DxSFtUWNUL/s1600-h/katie+kiss+cropped.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnYswi-eB3J3tP9ccg-5SzgKX15x-tD5_hv0pQdUya4CzdW_oJOdcICvwgph-swCrtolFnGVSDFOrNin0FFmaErcBNNhzrxW0V2RPUzvEsZ5XpDc_n1g5GABl3vr9K_IaW4DxSFtUWNUL/s400/katie+kiss+cropped.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233340178521684322" /></a><br />Today is njr's natal day--hoorah! I for one am very glad he was born. To celebrate, we made a fete this past weekend featuring some of the best things about parties in august--BBQs, swimming, and ice cream cones. Although my photo-taking was compromised by a certain forgetful member of our tribe, (sirrah, i'm clearing my throat in your direction) some documentation exists of our mediterranean-inspired repast. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjiByoA2jMUC13oFKg5hleptsMwYOlnr0fm6y8zf21rh9__60pWDEDu0AvrAkpAP4e4jXcDa3Vsj4h3lwjl2OVnXhd3c_TWL13cgkI0KHO9m0076UUEJK1WDF_GZicToG8q60ZentLqOMV/s1600-h/plate+full.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjiByoA2jMUC13oFKg5hleptsMwYOlnr0fm6y8zf21rh9__60pWDEDu0AvrAkpAP4e4jXcDa3Vsj4h3lwjl2OVnXhd3c_TWL13cgkI0KHO9m0076UUEJK1WDF_GZicToG8q60ZentLqOMV/s400/plate+full.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233338539270655314" /></a><br /><br />The menu was as follows:<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />guacamole & chips<br />white sangria w/ peaches & mint<br /><br />green salad of lettuces, cucumbers, & tomatoes<br />duo of quinoa salads: beet/carrot/celery/dill & shitake/zucchini/corn/basil<br />chicken kabob w/ cucumber yogurt dipping sauce<br />steak kabob w/ parsley lemon dipping sauce<br />vegetable kabobs: red onion, peppers, tomatoes<br /><br />do-it-yourself ice cream cones featuring scoops ice cream!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBj10YVHhsA2raAz02yr1mSsOZiDww8e8L5w5MTal_8t0PbOkKykzpZoONew2xud6iMPxHI5EOHYMj2KVnK_4n7Wqn6_c6CmQhyphenhyphenyqsBxAk-uW_FccUxA9RwtKkTAM0WI2FEvSIoZzX5uI9/s1600-h/beet+quinoa.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBj10YVHhsA2raAz02yr1mSsOZiDww8e8L5w5MTal_8t0PbOkKykzpZoONew2xud6iMPxHI5EOHYMj2KVnK_4n7Wqn6_c6CmQhyphenhyphenyqsBxAk-uW_FccUxA9RwtKkTAM0WI2FEvSIoZzX5uI9/s400/beet+quinoa.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233338911955232818" /></a><br /><br />I lugged a fair amount of veggies and herbs from our parents' garden (aka rancho puesta del sol) including avocados, tomatoes, giant scallions, beets, cucumbers, parsley, basil, lemons, squash, and the largest zucchini i've ever seen. such wonderful raw materials make cooking easy and elemental--everything is flavored with little more than fresh herbs, lemon, and some good olive oil. i am not one to follow a lengthy recipe, so this is my favorite way to cook--riffing on some simple ingredients prepared with a minimal amount of fuss. i thought i'd post the recipe for the beet quinoa, as it has made a number of appearances at recent parties and everyone seems to adore it. plus it looks amazing in a bowl, all bright crimson textures with little green flecks of dill.<br /><br />BEET QUINOA WITH DILL<br />serves 6<br /><br />1 cup quinoa, rinsed<br />3-4 beets, cooked and diced<br />2 carrots, diced<br />1 celery heart, diced<br />1/2 onion, diced <br />2 cups chicken or veggie broth<br />2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill<br />1 tablespoon lemon<br />salt<br />pepper<br />olive oil<br /><br />bring broth to a boil and add quinoa. simmer about 15 minutes or until liquid is absorbed. remove from heat and let stand for 5 minutes, then transfer to large bowl. in a frying pan, sweat onions until translucent, then add carrots and celery, plus some salt and pepper, cooking until softened. add these to the quinoa, along with the beets, dill, and lemon. stir well, taste, and add a bit of olive oil if it seems dry, plus additional salt and pepper. serve at room temperature.<br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-26194041825812350792008-08-11T11:22:00.000-07:002008-08-11T11:40:28.062-07:00we've been baddieIt's true. No amount of apologizing will remedy the fact that there has been a sad lack of posts as of late, and no amount of excuses will get back those (probably) millions of readers who have already turned away, dismayed and saddened by the laziness and ineptitude of the baddiefish management. <br /><br />I'm here to tell you that I'm gonna turn this old ship around--stolen computer be damned! Today I will write about cookies! Lots of cookies! And not just any cookies--a special sneak peek of cookies I photographed for a friend whose cookie company website will soon be up and running, featuring some of the photos below! (Details and website to follow in the near future...this is but a sneak!) I hope they make your mouth water with anticipatory delight! They taste about a million times better than they look, by the way--for every cookie I photographed, I ate 5 more of the same. Some would even say I was paid in cookies. Please email me if you are interested in buying some from my fine cookie-purveying friend. They make an excellent hostess gift, client appeasement offering, co-worker birthday treat, etc.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqbtwiF-l6-JkSUY_gZSmaYqLQFJ-NgMrmKrNY_g_B1TvAs-IBAqk4wJT4wkphqxpAqoKwcmGLjI-lh5RF680WBl3dQJ-Rr29l1uFKTnbNK4iOOIgFz5LiRwj6Jbc5byTQJM44C8I2YBk/s1600-h/email_mock-oatmeal1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqbtwiF-l6-JkSUY_gZSmaYqLQFJ-NgMrmKrNY_g_B1TvAs-IBAqk4wJT4wkphqxpAqoKwcmGLjI-lh5RF680WBl3dQJ-Rr29l1uFKTnbNK4iOOIgFz5LiRwj6Jbc5byTQJM44C8I2YBk/s400/email_mock-oatmeal1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233329230620882882" /></a><br />oatmeal blueberry<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysz_Vu5eAl_zNadX_d-D3GQmu6FPJxYYvKZL-UrxvxonHF34479BViaiTHmOL0Ea8fOsAdFf2Cag-Vb_HXwlGUYsjrWpROmak4BExAuyu8-Mzmql8JfdzY8yqPxIPt7qNi-WVqEMIgHWy/s1600-h/email_mock-present1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysz_Vu5eAl_zNadX_d-D3GQmu6FPJxYYvKZL-UrxvxonHF34479BViaiTHmOL0Ea8fOsAdFf2Cag-Vb_HXwlGUYsjrWpROmak4BExAuyu8-Mzmql8JfdzY8yqPxIPt7qNi-WVqEMIgHWy/s400/email_mock-present1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233329592765573618" /></a><br />chocolate chip cookie present<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16_xFFEbNo52dMZ70M33aS7xT05MuvUpWN6XQRX06Uul5q9LMoXYCk-EQeWApVvdiUkK2hZ62QsV4-5ddHEjFYI-4VCLOIs1Id19yu8RRfMozZTKIjCAB71UilxyIwxe5NvE59upVJTbc/s1600-h/email_mock-pistachio2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16_xFFEbNo52dMZ70M33aS7xT05MuvUpWN6XQRX06Uul5q9LMoXYCk-EQeWApVvdiUkK2hZ62QsV4-5ddHEjFYI-4VCLOIs1Id19yu8RRfMozZTKIjCAB71UilxyIwxe5NvE59upVJTbc/s400/email_mock-pistachio2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233330690643155730" /></a><br />lemon pistachiorebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-26084190720129157882008-07-15T15:52:00.000-07:002008-07-15T16:28:52.109-07:00The chickens are coming!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmDJxdPCdQWen4kB-nRthJOoI2O8HOhtL-vdzDVxz8k7cJ8SXqfT-r1bacm-eT-Dzf4dzzyc9PEMgnKAiPyfxQonJf8I7inGExwAyUB-_t8ERHLan538U_zSPOj4JIv7Cl5La6lqNk6J1/s1600-h/IMG_2685.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmDJxdPCdQWen4kB-nRthJOoI2O8HOhtL-vdzDVxz8k7cJ8SXqfT-r1bacm-eT-Dzf4dzzyc9PEMgnKAiPyfxQonJf8I7inGExwAyUB-_t8ERHLan538U_zSPOj4JIv7Cl5La6lqNk6J1/s400/IMG_2685.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223379936904479890" /></a><br />That's right, y'all, my parents are now the proud owners (masters?) of six chickens. This means: 1) we get fresh eggs in a few months and 2) I am now, by default, a chicken prince. Here's the thing about chickens, they grow like crazy mutant creatures. One day they were baby chicks, the next they were giant chickens with talons and social agendas. Last time I visited I promised a kiss to the first girl who lays an egg, so that should speed up the process. More updates to come....sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-60037343240778902432008-06-23T11:40:00.000-07:002008-06-24T11:44:04.036-07:00Haiku 5/23/08<strong></strong><br /><strong>Outside Difaras with Two Slices</strong><br /><br />Amid city rush<br />Two-eighths of a perfect thing.<br />Blissful and quiet.njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-68590019172548833282008-06-20T08:36:00.000-07:002008-06-20T08:38:59.025-07:00NJR’S NY V LA SHOWDOWN DAY 4!!!!Day 3 was rained out. Also, closed on Mondays, as you would expect a pizza place so deep in Brooklyn that it takes almost an hour to get there would be had you thought about it at all and not just followed your lusty tum. But onwards! And forwards! And Uptown to DAY 4! Today, we pit Ramen against Ramen in a fiery furnace test of endurance. Also—beverage against beverage in a<span class="fullpost"> cockfight tale for the ages! I LOVE TO PUN! I LOVE IT! PUN PUN PUN!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">RAMENIA IN RAMENTOWN WITH A SIDE OF GORE GYOZA!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Daikokuya v Momofuku Noodle Shop</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DAIKOKUYA</span><br />Incredibly rich pork broth<br />LOTS of scallions that intensify the flavor as they cook in the broth<br />A delicious hardboiled egg that has been pickling over night<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">MOMOFUKU</span><br />Very rich as well, and perhaps saltier<br />Two kinds of pork, both of incredibly high quality and REALLY delicious. The pork slices were mostly fat and continued to flavor the broth as it cooked, making it the porkiest porkiness ever to pork my face.<br />A poached egg. Cool.<br /><br />This was the first real nuts-out teeth-gritted battle of the whole competition. While it was officially a ramen-off, both sides brought feisty loyal sidekicks to help wage the war. Daikokuya’s accomplice was the ever delicious, ever too-filling-to-then-try-to-eat-a-whole-bowl-of-ramen-you-crazypants gyoza. These little guys are crispy as hell on the outside, and filled with delicious porkness (yeah—there’s a theme here. Live with it.). Again, scallions are utilized to their fullest—a heaping pile of them that you pray you will trap enough of with your chopsticks to rich gyoza nirvana.<br /><br />Momofuku was not going to be out done in the sidekick department, and went all out with pork steamed dumplings. These little guys sort of resemble bacos (from Lot 1). The dumpling is cut almost like a taco and wrapped about two heavenly slices of pork (I said live with it son!), some sweet plum sauce, and a few pickles. This was OUTRAGEOUSLY good. I would go back and eat six of them right now, even though I have a Batali-induced stomachache (more on that later). But this isn’t about sidekicks or costumes or catch phrases. This is about ramen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE</span>: Daikokuya. A really tough call. Both ramens are delicious, and I have to say it’s great to know that the pigs in your soup were treated relatively well (momofuku pork comes form Neiman Ranch). But to me, Ramen is a street food and it just shouldn’t cost $16. Ramen and pork buns and beer should never set you back $48. It wasn’t just a matter of price point—I think Daikokuya’s broth is a little better—more rounded and less salty. I also think they have a better noodle to broth ratio (a few too many noodles in Momofuku’s version) and their ramen is greatly helped by the extra scallions which cut the porkiness just enough to make it totally enjoyable first bite to last.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CLASHING BEAK TO BEAK: COCKTALE FOR THE AGES!!!! </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pdt v Hungry Cat</span><br /><br />If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself through all of this, it’s that I like an unfair fight. Or to put it more precisely, I’m on vacation! I’m gonna go where I want and pit that place against a death match with whoever I darnit well please and thank you! Hungry Cat has my favorite cocktails in LA. Is it a bar? No. Are they the best match up in our fair city against that juggernaut of drink and milk and honey called “please don’t tell”? No. But damnit I like them! And actually, the drinks at pdt reminded me very much of hungry cat drinks.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PDT</span><br />So damn fun to walk into and in a way that just can’t really be done in LA. You go into a hotdog joint on the lower east side and walk through a PHONE BOOTH into the bar. It’s dark and sexy and old fashioned inside and damned if it doesn’t make you want to have a cocktail.<br />First drink was a “dewey d”: Overholt, Sherry, Aperol and bitters. It was like a very very grown up Manhattan (how appropriate. enchante). Part of wanting to try this was hubris on my part. By way of my friend Bza I had learned to make a mean mean Manhattan—one that I think is better than any variety I have ever ordered at a bar. About the time the bartender started hitting perfect cubes of ice with his stirrer I knew I might be in trouble. When he expertly squeezed a tiny round disc of orange over the drink and rubbed the outside of the class just enough to give it the perfect aromatic zesty overtone, I got down on my knees and apologized for ever having made a Manhattan to begin with. It was pretty embarrassing actually since this was a pretty cool bar and probably people don’t usually genuflect before they’ve gotten their first drink. It was out of this world good and beautiful and great to watch get made. There is a spectacle to nightlife in NYC that makes our flashy shenanigans seem like nickelodeon to their HBO. Or should I say Cinemax…<br />Second drink was less successful in taste—it was called The Mariner and consisted of blended scotch, cardamom syrup and some other stuff I can’t remember. Again, the preparation and presentation were exquisite, but the cardamom taste was bitter and overwhelmed everything else. Which brings us to…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">HUNGRY CAT</span><br />St. Andrews is also a drink that blends scotch, lemon juice and other stuff. The whole time I was drinking The Mariner, I was wishing it had ginger simple syrup and candied ginger instead of cardamom in it. Hungry cat wins the drink v drink sprint off here. <br />I also often get the Pimlico. Like a julep but better. All their drinks are so fresh and the bartenders are so awesome. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE:</span> pdt. No question. We just can’t hold a candle to exciting bars in NYC. Because of our cars, because of our culture. LA is having a fancy drink renaissance right now, but even with it I highly doubt we can do what pdt does: by affordable, not overly exclusive, exciting, and delicious all in the same little spot. Prove me wrong LA! Make me a drink to forget pdt. My little caveat here is that just because Hungry Cat lost, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go there. In fact, if you’re in LA and reading this and haven’t been there you should feel a little embarrassed and then go take pride in the kind of place we do have in LA and the kind of place we should be proud of.<br /><br />A draw! A draw! Today we have a draw! It was a good eating day, or rather night. Also, I saw my first play. I mention this because I deeply love the theater and while I’ve tried to carry my excitement for it to LA, it hasn’t worked. I fear I may give NYC extra points just for having plays like “Body Awareness”, which I saw at the Atlantic Second Stage sitting on a pillow. If you know of great exciting new theater in LA, tell me about it so I can go. Otherwise, eat your face off world!<br /></span><br /><span class="fullpost"></span>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-51292349923452870112008-06-18T16:01:00.000-07:002008-06-18T16:21:53.037-07:00Surf's Up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTydWvMzHykOg1dkVAKNV65EB8iVeXwXQv79Z1m1JWFu3qszJin9LwhfzwQcmY4u81RKwI0kA9Gw-cd_xBcMXxRdgA0r0x7ik5MjORDzJIddKc0x5N9YYQRYsi9Fjoq8doNwLjH65zqaM/s1600-h/surf+dog+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTydWvMzHykOg1dkVAKNV65EB8iVeXwXQv79Z1m1JWFu3qszJin9LwhfzwQcmY4u81RKwI0kA9Gw-cd_xBcMXxRdgA0r0x7ik5MjORDzJIddKc0x5N9YYQRYsi9Fjoq8doNwLjH65zqaM/s400/surf+dog+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213363024074830354" /></a><br /><br />Hot dogs-- the white tuxedo of my culinary world. I like to bust it out every once in while when the setting is right-- like at a dodger game or on a first date down to the pier (one of those is hypothetical). Sadly, these kinds of settings are few and far between in LA (disclaimer: I have yet to try Let's Be Frank but have heard good things.) That's why we were so excited when we visited Surf Dog up north. It is a truly great hot dog stand, one that really embodies all the characteristics of the hot dog--<span class="fullpost"> simple, bold, eccentric.<br /><br />The stand is located on the edge of a softball field, just off the 101 freeway in Carpinteria. The man who runs it-- I don't know his name-- is what people over fifty call "a real character." If you told me he was homeless and slept under the cart I wouldn't be surprised, yet it's also plausible that he's a movie producer who sells hot dogs in his spare time. Either way, he's clearly not in it for the money. When we arrived with a mere 50 cents in our pocket, he insisted we still take a dog and "pay him back later," a practice we later learned was a common occurrence. Are you listening, Robin Williams? Your next role is right here waiting for you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGItSbFi3jG_q_xEpX41UKzRNVHpwG9IBWh-92QBIEGlaaCEDT7jDH3AnRPYG1qHyJokUKT57rSI2ELzFjzM0-UqFxdkIT6l1-m1ck9Ffeu420DIQMjuFE5WBKZaMfoIbqZSmtlnz0vns/s1600-h/surf+dog+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGItSbFi3jG_q_xEpX41UKzRNVHpwG9IBWh-92QBIEGlaaCEDT7jDH3AnRPYG1qHyJokUKT57rSI2ELzFjzM0-UqFxdkIT6l1-m1ck9Ffeu420DIQMjuFE5WBKZaMfoIbqZSmtlnz0vns/s400/surf+dog+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213364681824015202" /></a><br /><br />Now, I should probably admit that when it comes to hot dogs I'm pretty easy to please. Give me a Hebrew National, a good bun, maybe a little sauerkraut and that's it, I'm happy. And that's exactly what you get at surf dog: no gourmet fixings, no artisanal ingredients, just a guy doling out decent hot dogs and a lot of good karma. And after your dog fix you get to walk down to the seal rookery and watch baby seals hang ten on poseidon's glorious waves. what more could you ask for on a saturday afternoon?<br /><br />Surf Dog<br />Between the softball field and the driving range<br />Off the Casitas Pass exit of the 101<br />Carpinteria CA<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvirvpLIsqALfKqqnuu3QxtyiZtiZ-b7MLGv9MRQ430V1AyXTWbIG6VjIPstMCwZ_nH7T57q8xistAVxuk9WLe3YBOUhz2-nS-ijiwQoaP_6lak3XlPlTyfw6t2f0vnOjjBmsmqN9-TiSk/s1600-h/surf+dog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvirvpLIsqALfKqqnuu3QxtyiZtiZ-b7MLGv9MRQ430V1AyXTWbIG6VjIPstMCwZ_nH7T57q8xistAVxuk9WLe3YBOUhz2-nS-ijiwQoaP_6lak3XlPlTyfw6t2f0vnOjjBmsmqN9-TiSk/s400/surf+dog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213365588119286066" /></a><br /></span>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-36908016573306747682008-06-16T11:34:00.000-07:002008-06-16T11:39:40.397-07:00NJR’S NY V. LA SHOWDOWN DAY 2!!!!Otherwise known as THE RECKONING!<br /><br />I felt sort of bad after LA’s sweep in day one, so I decided to go get a bagel.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BAGEL TAR AND FEATHER JACUZZI BOUT</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Bergen Bagels v Bagel Broker</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BERGEN BAGELS</span><br />Sesame Bagel with Cream Cheese<br />Hellz yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BAGEL BROKER</span><br />The same.<br />Bleh.<br /><br />I purposefully pitted arguably LA’s best<span class="fullpost"> bagel place against the closest neighborhood spot to where I’m staying in Brooklyn so NY could really dish out an ass whooping. I mean—what is it? Why are the bagel’s so much better? Am I the first to ponder this question? No. Do I ponder it all the same? Hell yes I do, with my face covered in cream cheese. Boom. The texture; the present but not overpowering saltiness; the whipiness of the cream cheese. Goddamn I love bagels. There’s that experience of being really in to someone but then only seeing them in bad contexts and taking them for granted and kind of being done with them but then something happens and you really get the chance to appreciate them again and man—they’re awesome peeps. Everytime I come to NYC I get to have this experience with bagels. How cool is that? It used to be thus with pizza, but LA’s a little less useless in this department these days. So thank god for bagels, and a good old fashion ass whooping.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: </span> Bagel Broker! Just kidding. Bergen Bagels made the Broker cry like a little baby lamb with no milk.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">MOLECULAR GASTRONOMY THROW DOWN— IT WILL FLAY YOUR BOBBY!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">WD 50 v</span><br /><br />WD 50<br />Exciting, thoughtful, and to top it all off—delicious!<br /><br />LA had a big time no-show on this one, and it’s probably for the best. In a city where there’s always a struggle to privilidge substance far enough above style to get really top quality food, a kind of cooking that supremely elevates a kind of “style” would have a real possibility of going off the deep end. Maybe you could stick Ciramusti in there just because of his inventiveness, but really we don't have a counterpart. I’ve been dying to try a so called “molecular gastronomy” hot spot for a while. WD 50 did not disappoint. Many reviews have said that this place is really coming into it’s own in the last couple of years. I didn’t try it in its early days so I can’t comment on where it’s been, but I can tell you that where it’s gotten is a very special place.<br /><br />I took so long ordering that the bartender started teasing me about it. I finally decided on a richly flavored meal, but one without any heavy red meat:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Smoked eel, salsify, guava, puffed yuzu </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Duck breast, spaghetti squash, almond polenta, pomelo molasses</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Warm gianduja, ice milk, hazelnut, fennel</span><br /><br />If you know anything about the restaurant going in, then the menu is a wonderful kind of puzzle. Little vignettes that clue you in to the flavor profile of a given dish, but give you very little insight into the crazy preparation that will go into its presentation. It’s exciting! I’ll probably write a full review later, but I here’s an amuse bouche, if you will, in the form of the email note I sent myself while eating:<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Textures become sensual. So smokey. Beautiful- like a love letter. Feminine, flirtatious, and consummated with smoke and deep yuzu flavor</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Huge duck breasts. Spaghewtti is the perfect textual and taste counterpart, adding a slight bitterness and crucnhinesss to the duck. Pomelo is the sweet you need with duck deepend by the delicious almond polenta, which I coulf eat a bowl of.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Duck skin perfectly cooked. Salty and crunchy put also chewy. Maybe too chewy but when you have almond polenta, who's gonna argue.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Dessert crazy looking! Delicious. How could you make choco hazelnut better? This is how! Like a monster mix.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Every hazelnutt fantasy I've ever had realized. I'm so glad I didn't have to share this. Lady next to me says powder like gunpowder. I don't know wbat she means but I say I agree but come on! All is right with the world!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Don't want to leave. Want to get desseert tasting menu.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">--------------------------</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld</span><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"></span>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-61075159710861702332008-06-16T10:57:00.000-07:002008-06-17T14:34:25.243-07:00HAIKU 6/16/08<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Smoked Eel Appetizer at WD 50</span><br /><br />Flirtatiously form'd,<br />So smokey at your essence,<br />Perfect Valentine.<br /><span class="fullpost"></span>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-83495936305436354812008-06-15T08:37:00.000-07:002008-06-15T08:49:39.231-07:00NJR’S NY V. LA SHOWDOWN!!!!I’m in NYC for the week with a list of places to eat as long as Rapunzel’s bangs. I was thinking last night while walking in the hot rain (LA 1, NY 0), past the beautiful brownstones of the lower west side (NY ties it up!) how so far everything I’d eaten in New York (and everything on my list) had an obvious counterpart in LA. I didn’t feel this way a few years ago, so either LA’s food scene has expanded to incorporate more comparable options, or I’ve expanded (which you have, in the belly! NY Zinger!). Then I thought<span class="fullpost">, why not make this a competition? That way, at the end of the day someone can feel bad.<br /><br />But seriously, it’s interesting to compare some of these dishes. And as I go through my week here, I’m gonna try to keep posting some of my thoughts. Please excuse the sloppy grammar—Imapostin on the road!:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">JUICY PORK DUMPLINGS STREET FIGHT WITH HAMMERS!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Din Tai Fung v. Joe’s Shanghai</span><br /><br />I love me some soup dumplings aka juicy dumpling aka xiao long bao. When living in New York, I used to frequent New Green Bo on a very regular basis, and also had some killer dumplings at Shanghai Café. When I returned to LA a few years ago, I thought I would never again experience these little wonders. But then I discovered the San Gabriel Valley, and that on the West Coast they’re not called soup dumplings and wallah! Din Tai Fung. A friend from Shanghai swears by the Joe’s Shanghai variety in NYC overall others—I think I smell a death match.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DIN TAI FUNG</span><br />About the size of an apricot<br />Light, delicate skin<br />Flavorful broth- salty with some sweetness and a light pork taste- but not much broth.<br />Small flavorful piece of pork up in there<br />One dumpling=one bite<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">JOE’S SHANGHAI</span><br />About the size of a plum<br />Thick skin<br />Intense rich thick flavorful broth and almost 2 spoons fulls!<br />Big chunk of meaty pork inside<br />One dumpling=3 bites!<br /><br />This is like pitting Hulk Hogan against Natalie Portman in a death match. It’s all about personal preference. That said, Joe’s Shanghai didn’t even hold a candle for me. I can see why my Shanghai friend loves them—they are rich and intense and would be delicious on a cold night. They’re like a great huge hamburger, but I guess I’ve lived in LA too long and I’d usually prefer some good sushi. I thought Joe’s Shanghai lacked the subtlety and specificity of the Din Tai Fung variety.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE</span>: Din Tai Fung (Booyah NYC! Who needs a tummy tuck now?!)<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">SHEA METS STADIUM CLUB V. DODGERS STADIUM CLUB CAGE THROWDOWN</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Shea Stadium Players Club v. Dodgers Dugout Club</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2nd billing: Shea Stadium v. Dodgers Stadium</span><br /><br />Shea had to cancel both fights due to anemia and gonorrhea. Shea said call back next year and then we’ll see whose big papi then.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CUPCAKE SCISSORFEST ’09!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Magnolia Bakery v. Auntie Em's</span><br /><br />I’ve really grown to dislike cupcakes, but there was a time living in NYC when nothing made me happier than a late night trip to Magnolia. It would a stop for my nostalgia more than for my stomach. Also, the kick ass looking dessert truck (check it: www.desserttruck.com) wasn’t there because of the rain.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">MAGNOLIA BAKERY</span><br />I stick to the classic vanilla cake with buttercream frosting.<br />A great flavor to the cake. Not too sweet. A small cupcake.<br />What happened to all the frosting? There’s less on there now, right? And damn it’s sweet! I used to take down 2 of these puppies and now I have to scrape off half the frosting on one of them.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">AUNTIE EM’S </span><br />If you live in LA and haven't been to this bakery/breakfast spot in Eagle Rock you should go for brunch today. If you get there early, you might even be able to have the biscuits and gravy.<br />Red Velvet Cupakes<br />F’ing delicious!<br />Great Creamcheese frosting<br />A sweet light cake with that mystery flavor that turns out to be chocolate but I always thought was the “red” part.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE</span>: Auntie Em’s. I realize most NYCers wouldn’t pick Magnolia to rep them in a cupcake war. I probably should have pitted it against Sprinkles in LA, but that would be like watching two squids fight to the death in a pool of jello. Actually, that sounds kind of cool, but hopefully you get my point: who cares who’s a little less mediocre. And who really cares about cupcakes anymore-- Froyo Bareknuckle Brawl!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DAY ONE:</span><br />LA SWEEP! And yes, I realize that this isn’t a fair fight so far, but don’t worry NYCers: pizza, bagels, Italian food to come. And really, there’s no winners and losers here except my stomach, which was already forced to endure gross hot wings at Shea, soup dumplings, and a cupcake on the same night. And in case it seems like I'm unfairly biased to LA let me just say: Man New York is great. I'm feeling a real warmth from a lot of the people this time here, and not just because everyone is sweating. Everyone not in a car has been totally wonderful to me (maybe that's the trick...) and it's such a beautiful city to walk around in. Also, you should see what Hip Hop at 4 in the morning is doing to my dreams.</span>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-84910150423644195392008-06-09T16:53:00.000-07:002008-06-10T16:56:29.571-07:00Haiku 6/9/08<strong>Eating in Portland</strong><br /><br />Food wet with food-love,<br />Prepared without pretensions--<br />Get in my belly!njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-57587282187805506482008-06-04T21:56:00.000-07:002008-06-04T22:13:56.998-07:00Poking Around<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MzQa_AW-VOLfoXe3DqQk1TR76OwLbcHzve-RD4d2kGx64eUbkqkLDp9As-lr1Fg5jutMM9GvFQ8Dtij3OgmDcSLh0kh5dP5WOFQ8rz3MiIDcLPyNinNMnVyx2taxXMIBPGwt99FaIFuw/s1600-h/31260002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MzQa_AW-VOLfoXe3DqQk1TR76OwLbcHzve-RD4d2kGx64eUbkqkLDp9As-lr1Fg5jutMM9GvFQ8Dtij3OgmDcSLh0kh5dP5WOFQ8rz3MiIDcLPyNinNMnVyx2taxXMIBPGwt99FaIFuw/s400/31260002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208257145605858786" /></a><br />You know when you have those serendipitous moments while traveling, when that place you wanted to find is suddenly right in front of you, and then right across the street is that other little place you'd heard about, and it seems as if some invisible hand is guiding you to exactly where you want to be? Those moments happened a lot in Portland. <br /><br />Which is how we happened to eat lunch at <span class="fullpost">Pok Pok not 2 hours after touching down at the airport (which is lovely, by the way, and possibly from the future). Looking for a place to get Z's hair cut led us to Division St and Rudy's barber shop; Pok Pok, the restaurant that sat atop our list of places to try, just happened to be right down the street. This felt like an auspicious sign, but it turned out to be life as usual chez Portland, where on good thing is never far away from another.<br /><br />Pok Pok is nominally a Thai restaurant, but it's not like any Thai place I've been to. The chef is a white guy named Andy Ricker who decided to take on Thai street food after becoming obsessed with it on his travels. The menu changes according to what ingredients he and his staff can find, or riffs on esoteric local specialties; sometimes a family recipe from the sous-chef's village, or a version of some noodle dish prepared by a favorite Chiang Mai street hawker. There's also (this being Portland) a mouth-watering array of imbibables, and even though i hadn't ever thought of pairing whiskey with thai food, in the chill and rain of Portland it began to make sense.<br /><br />So it happened that by 2pm we were sipping pandan-flavored water on the benches of the Pok Pok patio, perusing the lengthy cocktail menu (have i mentioned that portlanders like to drink?) and figuring out how the 2 of us could eat through at least half of the menu without compromising our dinner.<br /><br />That translated to an order of fish-sauce chicken wings, herbal salad, and dry noodles with a salmagundi of delightful treats, including pork cracklings, pickled vegetables, sprouted and long beans, and bbq-ed pork. The fish sauce wings were a wonder: crazily flavorful, with that signature thai mix of sweet, sour, and spicy. The herbal salad, a jullienned array of veggies and herbs tossed with a lemongrassy dressing, came on tangy and finished with a nice twist of slow heat, taking the edge off the salty bomb of the chicken wing. And the dry noodles? There were about five layers of flavor and texture in there, which I think is what all good Thai cooking is supposed to deliver, but rarely does. It was my favorite among 3 superb plates of food.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NcRloKfNuvWPP1Lv8AwAYNy0CJd5nnov_Zp_UC-hHTzUayg549TIoAOe1THlAzYAkjBGIS0dAU1s6xkUFuPDVSJELtKZREl-NHLDek0ew57g_6-vV2pQSvlFur9uion7hqALdDSqd9G-/s1600-h/31260003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2NcRloKfNuvWPP1Lv8AwAYNy0CJd5nnov_Zp_UC-hHTzUayg549TIoAOe1THlAzYAkjBGIS0dAU1s6xkUFuPDVSJELtKZREl-NHLDek0ew57g_6-vV2pQSvlFur9uion7hqALdDSqd9G-/s400/31260003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208260070478587394" /></a><br /><br />Pok Pok is the kind of place that, to my mind, typifies everything that's great about the Portland food scene: personal, seasonal, relaxed, (dare I say homey?), and unpretentious. As we were eating, a couple showed up with their dog in tow; it looked like they'd walked from home. They plunked themselves down on a bench, looped fido's leash around the gate, and tucked in to their feast. I felt a pang of jealousy; I wanted to be their neighbor, to trot in with the dog or stop by on my bike and grab a whole roasted game hen (!!) with sticky rice for lunch. So why does my new favorite neighborhood joint exist 1000 miles north of home? More importantly, how does a place like Pok Pok not exist in Los Angeles? Can someone fix that, please?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxs0vhiay_plb1GR9kgRLAwr1eKCWFa9cvK3vg5d0SyvsCDz10U3rKvrz-XIzdFbOMSYtCsAkkCD2lDeaOyy_-fSdS5i0_Cw-RduSQiJoNv5fbltHxh6B3lsyLmKCv1087D7jcIbzgh7A/s1600-h/31260001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxs0vhiay_plb1GR9kgRLAwr1eKCWFa9cvK3vg5d0SyvsCDz10U3rKvrz-XIzdFbOMSYtCsAkkCD2lDeaOyy_-fSdS5i0_Cw-RduSQiJoNv5fbltHxh6B3lsyLmKCv1087D7jcIbzgh7A/s400/31260001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208259731176170994" /></a><br /><br />pok pok <br />3226 se division st<br />portland or <br />503 232 1387<br />www.pokpokpdx.com<br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-45748215088847476172008-06-02T17:52:00.000-07:002008-06-03T12:55:08.413-07:00Portland: a prelude<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaSWt-p4fUaicMhRHuHzJWsru-uwl4ifAZY5ZVzP4eDzilVslo3uwnOvAtwra9EdtN86eV07cShvZDYkISUY-0yJghqAPaoQEaIEaNZ2YVHW8PTBOrKRH_fSQIkUQJExGZR-I4gbf9xaP/s1600-h/pastaworks.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaSWt-p4fUaicMhRHuHzJWsru-uwl4ifAZY5ZVzP4eDzilVslo3uwnOvAtwra9EdtN86eV07cShvZDYkISUY-0yJghqAPaoQEaIEaNZ2YVHW8PTBOrKRH_fSQIkUQJExGZR-I4gbf9xaP/s320/pastaworks.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207453084362450114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last weekend we got to spend a few days in Portland before crossing the border for a wedding in Washington. We're still waiting for our photos to be developed at which point longer, more stimulating posts will be written. But for now I wanted to report on one of my favorite parts of the trip, our unexpected visit to Pastaworks in SE Portland. Like so many of my favorite travel moments, this one was a complete accident. We had walked in to the Powell's Books on Hawthorne in search of cookbooks but were soon distracted by the beautiful row of produce that was in the adjoining room. Intrigued, we quickly left the cookbooks to explore the market next door, which turned out to be one of the best gourmet markets I've been to in the states. It was like someone had hunted around for my most favorite items and kindly placed them all in one store for me. Most impressive was the range of products and services, which went far beyond your standard wine and cheese operation. There was a butcher cutting beautifully marbled dry-aged ribeyes the color of deep crimson (when I asked him how long they had been hanging he said, "oh, we don't sell anything that hasn't hung for at least 30 days") across from him there was a girl cutting fresh pasta for a customer, next to her someone was replenishing a pile of landjäger sausages (my favorite,) and to top it all off they had a wonderful organic produce section. It's definitely the kind of place you want to live down the street from, or above, or in. Which brings me to an important question: how is it that nothing like this exists in Los Angeles? We have access to all the components, someone just needs to put them all together in one place. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the village lifestyle-- I would love nothing more than to spend my days traipsing about town visiting each of my favorite shops, like Belle in the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast. But urban sprawl and rising fuel costs make traipsing hard in LA, which is why having a store like Pastaworks would make so much sense. Of course, I could also just move to Portland...<br /><br />Pastaworks<br />3735 SE Hawthorne Blvd.<br />Portland, Oregan 97214<br />503.232.1010<br />www.pastaworks.comsirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-37457967707981250482008-05-21T15:32:00.000-07:002008-05-21T15:39:50.631-07:00This is fascinating<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/05/12/080512fa_fact_max">http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/05/12/080512fa_fact_max</a>. <span class="fullpost">And here is the rest of it.</span>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-65663912556593003612008-05-19T11:18:00.000-07:002008-05-20T12:03:53.494-07:00Haiku 5/19/08<strong>Our Ladies of Philippe’s<br /></strong><strong></strong><br />Ageless plastic gloves<br />Ferry comfort to our trays<br />Make safe our childhearts.njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-4244435682778079852008-05-16T13:03:00.000-07:002008-05-19T15:53:51.966-07:00The Friday Five: Foods you eat standing up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4f9ky5YmxCLU2O8pAP8EMhiLYo4gozfOADJfXbZ0OeHkIrZ0pkKevtJFHjLhgzuYnQN6ePi6KxpcmuSfidI4b4gFrhMWsWn_gqGnJXmyBL44DM2PX51554qdMloUpr5VTzHD8F34Foo9/s1600-h/donerpic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4f9ky5YmxCLU2O8pAP8EMhiLYo4gozfOADJfXbZ0OeHkIrZ0pkKevtJFHjLhgzuYnQN6ePi6KxpcmuSfidI4b4gFrhMWsWn_gqGnJXmyBL44DM2PX51554qdMloUpr5VTzHD8F34Foo9/s400/donerpic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201090345537331058" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div>If your jesus ship came under fire and you were forced to walk on water to the nearest island paradise, you'd take these 5 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">foods you eat standing up</span>:<br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">NJR</span><br />1. Khanom Krok<br />Khanom Krok is Thai Coconut pudding. It is cooked in a special cast iron pan with little golf ball size indentations that fits over a grill. Coconut pudding is poured into the indentation and cooked until the outside is hot and crispy. The inside stays soft and sweet and gets hot enough to burn your tongue. They are sweet and coconut-y and they provide your mouth with an incredible textural experience. You can find a delicious version at the Thai food stand at the Hollywood Farmer's Market. I hear they also have them on Sundays behind the Thai Market in Thai Town. Please, if you have any love for sweet delicious food in your heart, go try them.<br /><br />2. Fish Tacos<br />Tacos could easily fill my entire top five. I figured that since everyone would have tacos on their list (and thank you, Z, for including Suadero tacos from Taco Zone) I would add something different. Also, The Great Taco Hunt knows more about and has better descriptions of just about every taco I've ever tried. Instead, let me salute the fish taco. Delicious, light but also greasy, usually packing a pretty spicy punch. I get fish and shrimp tacos most often from The Best Tacos in Ensenada on Hillhurst. It's close to home (I can walk there!) and usually great. Still, they can't match the fish tacos at Tacos Baja Ensenada. I've only been a few times, but I still dream about the big, airy pieces of fried fishes buried under a mound of cabbage, sour cream and spicy salsa.<br /><br />3. Bahn Mi<br />I love Bahn Mi. I love them. Vietnamese Submarine Sandwiches—what could be better? Impossibly light baguettes smeared with something reminiscent of rich butter (is it?) then filled with shredded vegetables, spicy chilies and delicious fillings that taste like they should be in a dumpling on a Dim Sun cart somewhere. It's a great walking around food and I often find excuses to grab a couple to take—well—anywhere. Also—did I mention they usually sell for less that $3? Come on! My pick would be Barbeque Pork Bahn Mi from Bahn Mi Che Cali.<br /><br />4. Thai Barbeque skewers.<br />Maybe it's because I had the actual experience of eating street food in Thailand, maybe it's because my palate is particularly suited to the sweetness and spices often found in Thai food, or maybe it's because it's just plain delicious, but I love me some Thai Food, especially Thai Street Food . Skewers of impossibly moist meat cooked over an open fire and served to you with sticky rice. And it's really sticky! Just writing about this makes me miss the Wat Thai weekend food market so much. Damn you, neighbors!<br /><br />5. Popsicles<br />This one kind of snuck on here. It's probably because it's getting hotter and the thought of anything that cools you down trumps the thought of things that might warm you up (see Arroz Con Leche Haiku). Trader Joe's used to make these banana popsicles that I lived on as a kid. They're no longer available, so I stick to Lime Popsicles and the frozen bananas covered in chocolate. It's really a testament to how good the bananas taste that I dive right into something that looks that much like a piece of poop on a stick. And no, I'm not just being crass here. If you don't believe me, throw one in a public pool and see what happens… Trumping all of these is the homemade variety. I can't wait to see what R makes this summer.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">SIRRAH</span><br />1. Jerusalem Bagels<br />after winding through an impossibly long underground tunnel where Jesus was supposedly held before his crucifixion, we finally emerged onto a crowded Jerusalem street. our guide reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out what looked like four sesame bagels that had been stretched into giant ovals. he then split each one open and sprinkled a mysterious green spice inside (my first encounter with zataar.) standing there amidst the crowd of merchants, eating this ancient pairing of flour and spice remains one of my most vivid culinary memories.<br /><br />2. Hollywood farmer's market pupusas<br />the ethnic pancake department has many fine members-- scallion pancakes, dosas, korean seafood pancakes-- each one better than the next. But there's something about the four elements of a pupusa-- salsa, crema, curtido and masa-- that, when combined, make me feel like eating anything else is a waste of time. also, they're two dollars.<br /><br />3. Choripan<br />the national sandwich of Argentina, it consists of a grilled chorizo on crusty bread and plenty of chimichurri. I would never want to know the total number of choripan that I consumed while living in buenos aires, but I assure you it's alarming. the best ones always came from the makeshift grills at the soccer fields.<br /><br />4. Suadero tacos from taco zone<br />never have i ever eaten a taco from taco zone, a) before midnight, b) sober, c) sitting down. and never will i ever a, b or c.<br /><br />5. Miner's sourdough with cottage cheese and olive oil<br />R already mentioned this one but she left out the olive oil. the olive oil is key. if I had to pick just one of the five things mentioned in this list, this would be it. I've been eating it since I was a child and will continue eating it until I die. it never makes it onto a plate, or I to the table-- a paper towel and a kitchen counter is all i need.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">STARDAR</span><br />1. toast<br />i grew up on sourdough toast, and it's still the one thing i can always eat, be it late night or early morning, slathered with plugra, cottage cheese, or fancy jam. my intentions are usually to include the toast in part of a larger schematic of foodstuffs--tea, eggs, cereal--but i invariably end up at the kitchen sink, holding the crunchy mess in my hand and stuffing face as fast as humanly possible.<br /><br />2. ice cream<br />ice cream is always better eaten standing up--whether it's those first bites as you wait to be rung up at your favorite purveyor, or happily licking your cone walking down the street on a hot summer day. or, as i do it, standing over your sink, trying to make the sweltering heat of your apartment subside by shoveling cold sweet spoonfuls into your pie hole. i always deceive myself thinking one bite will be enough; i'm always wrong.<br /><br />3. tuna<br />when i'm having a leisurely day at home i tend to forget about lunch until it's too late and my famished stomach comes to get me in angry fashion. those moment where i'm forced to prepare something on the double usually resort in tuna-making, and that bowl of never makes it to the table, destined to remain counter-side, contents consumed via a handful of crackers straight from the box.<br /><br />4. stone fruit<br />the season is just around the corner, and boy, i cannot wait to stand over my sink eating a freshly washed peach, juice running down my chin and a shit-eating grin on my face.<br /><br />5. you've probably caught on to the theme of my standing-up post--it's foods i eat over my kitchen sink! T & Z got to my other options (pupusas, tacos, pizza) so i only have 4. also, i realize my posts so far have been heavily tuna-centric. i just want you to know, it's been noted.<br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-58148527483133133102008-05-14T00:44:00.000-07:002008-05-19T15:55:08.324-07:00It's better coldThere is a section in everyone's brain that is devoted to lists. Although its exact location cannot be known, I imagine it's somewhere in the frontal lobe near the joyful memories section. Every list you've ever formulated in your head--to do lists, top five countries to visit, names of lovers--they're all there just waiting to be called upon. One of my favorite lists, and one that I call upon almost every week, is the "foods that are better the second time around" list. I'm fond of this list because it has something for everyone, from the obvious (pizza, chow mein, thanksgiving dinner) to the less obvious (pork chops, certain pastas) to the wildly controversial (seafood, biscuits and gravy, most mexican fare.) Today I want to talk about a recent addition to my list that I'm very excited about-- so excited, in fact, that I may have to move it to the coveted number one spot: fried chicken. <br /><br />I wish I could tell you exactly what happens to fried chicken, on a molecular level, after it sits in the refrigerator for a day. Here's my best guess: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOHSw9-usQQDvN5yrXeT84hd5-W-wepV2xSFfvwhPZZfNGQrJj1ukeT5Mz_MWsD7OG2Dh4WM_z7ODA5rYBXsxniPJ5wbxy8Vc06iYdc_vfrXSWw3V4NLWH3_asJGIY9uybowAV46j_hXC/s1600-h/chicken+equation+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOHSw9-usQQDvN5yrXeT84hd5-W-wepV2xSFfvwhPZZfNGQrJj1ukeT5Mz_MWsD7OG2Dh4WM_z7ODA5rYBXsxniPJ5wbxy8Vc06iYdc_vfrXSWw3V4NLWH3_asJGIY9uybowAV46j_hXC/s400/chicken+equation+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200122569246470162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Beyond that diagram I have no idea. I only know <span class="fullpost">the results of the process, which are a) more manageable skin, b) more intense flavors, especially around the end pieces, and c) easier temperature to deal with. I always feel hesitant to fully invest myself in a piece of hot fried chicken; maybe it's the temperature, maybe it's the grease. But when it's cold I really feel free to roll up my sleeves and do some good work, even in the hard to reach areas.<br /><br />It's gotten to the point where I actually go out of my way to eat it cold. The last time I was up at my parents we picked up some fried chicken from their favorite place and brought it home with us. I immediately threw mine in the freezer while they ate theirs hot at the table. An hour later I was sitting by myself eating cold fried chicken while everyone else watched a movie.<br /><br />It was worth it.<br /><br />Incidentally, the place we ordered from has great fried chicken:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Clementines</span><br />4631 Carpinteria Ave<br />Carpinteria, CA 93013<br />(805)684-5119<br /></span>sirrahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04794869265611447366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-56532674774022055452008-05-13T13:08:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:41:06.813-07:00Potato Taquitos: A Revelation!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWmMLYhsrInCG1co3HgL5o4xlMTZhUo7PAvJY0gdy9hFw-d8fgTJWCUTSMQrSF9XN7Lckz5bG_pIjlP3xOSLLy9Sus9und-xmOmk6bBztsNy5eXAe1zyBXX2Wpj6g-WCk9pQ9_D2OHI5B/s1600-h/of=50,590,442-2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWmMLYhsrInCG1co3HgL5o4xlMTZhUo7PAvJY0gdy9hFw-d8fgTJWCUTSMQrSF9XN7Lckz5bG_pIjlP3xOSLLy9Sus9und-xmOmk6bBztsNy5eXAe1zyBXX2Wpj6g-WCk9pQ9_D2OHI5B/s400/of=50,590,442-2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199956980977327954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Good news: I have a new friend, and she can cook!<br /><br />The first good sign: last week she invited us to a little Cinco de Mayo fiesta. On a Monday. At 2pm. The second good sign: walking in and finding <span class="fullpost"><br />the feast she prepared. Homemade taquitos with an array of fixins, including maybe the best guac I've ever had, chipotle salsa, and arroz verde. The third good sign: when I offered to make micheladas, she and her brother practically threw their arms around me, asking how the hell I knew about those too. A match made in heaven!<br /><br />The most amazing part of all this is that she's a vegetarian. Meaning so were the taquitos. Oh yes: potato taquitos. Do not let the humble tuber fool you. This thing was rich enough to rival any stewed pig or cow, and texturally a wonderment, the crisp outer edges of tortilla (oh yeah, she hand-makes those too--I don't know whether to laugh or cry about that) against the smooth, creamy, cumin-scented potato. Daubed with some guac and a little smoky chipotle salsa, it was downright perfect, and certainly the best mexican meal I've had since my last foray to the Zone.<br /><br />A spring day off doesn't get any better than this: sitting on a folding chair, michelada in hand, watching my new friend carefully pin down each taquito in the boiling oil and gabbing about life while the breeze waves the palms and echo park lake shimmers out the window.<br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-83240898302936551442008-05-13T12:51:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:43:12.559-07:00Haiku 5/12/08<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIEx-tWz_r6_1IsnSJTD26fRUzLgkhwci9ssfenGX8k8yCKf4DTZdQ_k-BGS_bzJFrSesnKKwlMTf3UPJUMXvkOZ2TQUrTYEm0ksBM_MFrb-qQOIrUFM1QyOAVHS0qjn5by7VFNcP2jo/s1600-h/horchata2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199953487824603522" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIEx-tWz_r6_1IsnSJTD26fRUzLgkhwci9ssfenGX8k8yCKf4DTZdQ_k-BGS_bzJFrSesnKKwlMTf3UPJUMXvkOZ2TQUrTYEm0ksBM_MFrb-qQOIrUFM1QyOAVHS0qjn5by7VFNcP2jo/s400/horchata2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><strong>Arroz Con Leche from El Gran Burrito<br /></strong></div><br /><div><br />It’s cold for LA.<br /></div><br /><div>It’s almost jacket weather.<br /></div><br /><div>You know what that means…<br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Editors note...<br /><span class="fullpost"><span class="fullpost"><br /><em>Arroz con Leche</em> is basically rice pudding. In its El Gran Burrito variety it’s like hot sweet Horchata with chunks of rice in it. Like Champurrado without the chocolate. A cinnamon-y, rice-y treat that should not be missed on any day during which warming your stomach is a primary, secondary or one-hundridary priority.</span></span></div><br /><span class="fullpost"></span><br /><span class="fullpost"></span>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-74883007013223113802008-05-09T14:11:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:38:48.384-07:00The Friday Five: Childhood Eats<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwWLIc50jM4fB2WDOn9KcSnkF6lmvg2ABXX6dez0QpdtAoxWPIHbchNQIwj-rJCuU-E2gf36tcf7CF1l-WM_OBGl8U-2dxXgHc3x4x3zYzmofXaBaBn8iuYVkmclJXjvaX2bFdkNUII0x/s1600-h/friday5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwWLIc50jM4fB2WDOn9KcSnkF6lmvg2ABXX6dez0QpdtAoxWPIHbchNQIwj-rJCuU-E2gf36tcf7CF1l-WM_OBGl8U-2dxXgHc3x4x3zYzmofXaBaBn8iuYVkmclJXjvaX2bFdkNUII0x/s400/friday5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198490400188483442" border="0" /></a><br />If your stupid boat exploded and you had to swim to a desert island, you'd take<br />these 5<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">foods from childhood:</span></span><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">SIRRAH</span><br />1. Stone soup<br />As a product of Waldorf education I thought everyone placed a giant stone in their vegetable soup while it cooked-- it's how I imagine some Greek children must feel about throwing plates on the floor. However, like most things in waldorf education, stone soup was the exception and not the rule. The soup itself was nothing special-- a basic vegetable broth with carrots, celery and potatoes-- but the stone transformed it into something truly mythical, and being mythical was pretty much my favorite thing to do in kindergarden.<br /><br />2. Salty Chicken<br />This little gem was one of Fina's creations, my Filipino housekeeper who played a huge role in my early years. Like many of Fina's recipes, this one was shrouded in mystery. What we do know? Crispy skin, onions, white wine and a lot of lemon. The rest will go to the grave with her.<br /><br />3. BLT's<br />My mom and I were firm believers in the after school, pre-dinner snack, especially if there was a soccer practice stuck in between. While the version I now make is more involved, I still have a lot of love for the days of toasted sourdough and iceberg lettuce. Sometimes you just have to keep it simple.<br /><br />4. 7-11 slurpees<br />Am I proud of it? No. But like it or not slurpees were big business for me from age 6 to 18. Also, try and take my coke slurpee away from me after 15 days on the desert island and you'll see a man go truly crazy. Like Stevie Nicks, alternating between laughing and weeping crazy.<br /><br />5. Burger king chicken sandwich<br />When I wasn't playing with gnomes or collecting sticks, I was eating a burger king chicken sandwich. They used to cut them in half and then wrap each half individually. You really did feel like a king.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">STARDAR</span><br />1. tuna fish<br />my mom is a master of tuna. it would appear on weekends, when a million friends were over, and we'd just gotten out of the pool: tuna with loads of celery, scallions, and dill, wheat thins to scoop it up in, and a dish of pickles and carrots. She was a renegade tuna-maker; sometimes there would be pickle relish in there, or diced green olives, sometimes parsley or basil. whatever was in the fridge that could be used went in to the big bowl. my number one pick for comfort, ease, and satisfaction.<br /><br />2. warm milk and honey<br />mom used to make this for us before bed. the ultimate comfort drink.<br /><br />3. cream cheese and olive sandwiches<br />there was a time when i was a very picky eater--no salad, no fish, no tomatoes, no condiments of any kind. my mom, at her wits end to come up with sandwiches for my lunch, tried pretty much everything. there was a long cream cheese and olive phase right before i moved on to salami and lettuce (no tomato! no mayo!). don't make fun of it til you've tried it.<br /><br />4. filipino beef<br />fina, our housekeeper, was an amazing cook when left to her own devices; meddle with her in any way, or try and discover the recipe, and the food immediately went downhill. my memory of the original filipino beef is hazy, the taste having changed quite a bit over the years she made it, but distinct: thin strips of beef marinated in garlic, vinegar, lemon, ginger, onion, and some other secret spices, then sauteed quickly. sounds basic, but the taste was impossibly rich and tangy, an explosion of flavor that tasted like nothing i'd ever eaten before. i would do physical harm to someone to taste that original filipino beef again.<br /><br />5.chicken soup<br />another alchemical creation of my mother's and eventually, of fina's. my mother's chicken soup: lemony, full of falling-apart chicken flavored with parsley, celery leaves, and carrots. fina's: sub in cilantro for parsley, put about 10 times as much lemon, and add some corn to thicken. both: amazing.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">NJR</span><br />1. Clara's Black Beans.<br />For certain children of driven, successful parents, most of their childhood comforts are more closely associated with a caregiver than a parent. Clara, who basically raised my sister and me, comes from Guatemala, calls me her Corazon, and makes some mean refried beans. I have such fond memories of her sitting at the kitchen table, letting me help her pick the stones out of the pile of black beans on the table. Cold black beans on a hot piece of sourdough toast. Nothing more comforting than that.<br /><br />2. Cream of Vegetable Soup.<br />Broccoli. Potatoes. Whatever. Delicious and so comforting. Clara usually made this too, by the way.<br /><br />3. Anything My Grandmother Made.<br />I don't care if this is breaking the rules. My grandmother lived with us from about the age of 5 until she died when I was 8. She ran a cafeteria at a High School in Louisville, KY. By the time she moved in with us she could barely move her substantial frame because of her arthritis, but she would still assume a seat on the stool by the stove and work away at fried chicken, mashed potatoes, pork chops and milk gravy. And there would be lemon ice box pie in the freezer. She collected all of her recipes in a small book written in distinguished cursive, but she often left out one or two of the ingredients so nothing cooked from it ever tastes quite like it did when she made it. It would be a disservice to try to choose any one dish that she made, so for her, I bend the rules.<br /><br />4. Plain yogurt with honey in it.<br />Maybe the most delicious but healthy-ish snack ever. Something about the tang of the yogurt really brings out the complexity and earthiness of good honey. Plus, the cold yogurt will harden strands of the honey to create a special textural treat-- a soft, round glob of warm honey, come on!<br /><br />5. Victor's Chicken Noodle Soup<br />Anytime I am sick; or think I might be getting sick; or know someone who's sick; or just need to feel comforted like a kid, I get Chicken Noodle Soup from Victor's. I have yet to have a better version of anything like the classic Jewish style anywhere in the city. It's salty, fatty, packed with carrots and celery and just plain delicious. My family has been going to Victor's since it opened almost two decades ago. There may only be a few great things on the huge menu, but the Chicken Noodle Soup is one of them.<br /></span>rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922221325204039169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295642714701799249.post-63456705752112203812008-05-08T16:16:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:41:48.487-07:00Best. Sighting. Ever.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCJYxmdYLJTItUjI05nmHovJCG0SuEfWoCIE2ziVTJP93XIwfWMQxchZ5qUb9eBFEaqIoPX4iBqNkMNTo9xZTRYV5RjuqL9in0iG450p90S5rpFYyudb0mXhIlA6W2HnOuvp7qcKhhZo/s1600-h/mozzadwng.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198159919113421250" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCJYxmdYLJTItUjI05nmHovJCG0SuEfWoCIE2ziVTJP93XIwfWMQxchZ5qUb9eBFEaqIoPX4iBqNkMNTo9xZTRYV5RjuqL9in0iG450p90S5rpFYyudb0mXhIlA6W2HnOuvp7qcKhhZo/s400/mozzadwng.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>We all had grand plans to try the new Father's Office on Friday (and yes, this included fortifying ourselves with snacks and courage against the inevitable wait). But Z went AWOL and left us without a good dinner option (no way we could risk it a man down). R and I decided to make an impulsive and financially unwise decision, one that others have made before and will make again. It starts with an M and ends with an ozzarella bar. I think you know what I'm talking about...<br /><br />The meal, for the record, was absolutely delicious. I insisted on getting the Crispy Pigs Trotter with cicoria & mustard again because, well, they're pig trotters. They were as I remembered-- comforting, tasting slightly of fall, and one of those cases where knowing what you're eating really improves instead of diminishes the experience. Talk about eating the entire animal... That said, the real hits of the evening <span class="fullpost"> came from the focused, powerful hands of our city’s Patron Saint of All Thing Culinary. Nancy. A thousand times Nancy.<br /><br />Burrata with grilled asparagus, brown butter, guanciale & Sicilian almonds. Complex, playful, sweet, but not overly rich. A joy for the mouth-- be it subtle tasting device or childhood pie hole. Equally as delicious was the Burricotti with braised artichokes, pine nuts, currants & mint pesto. Summery, sweet (in an entirely different way), beautifully textured. At best, Mozza takes the best version of simple, familiar ingredients and puts them together in a way that tastes, at the same time, like something you feel you should have thought of before and also something more layered and exciting than you ever would have thought possible. It's that perfect combination of tradition and insight.<br /><br />Halfway through the delectable Mozzarella Bar offerings, I remembered that I desperately had to pee, and was headed to the bathroom before the food arrived. Since my fear of peeing my pants (yes-- I get that distracted by food) had already made me feel like a first grader, the giant hulking man with braided hair who emerged just as I was about to enter it scared the crap out of me. A boy who has to pee does not a giant appreciate. I suppose I was vaguely comforted by the fact that he looked sort of familiar. I decided that he must be one of the bodyguards from 30 Rock.<br /><br />Luckily, R had left a little of the cheesy wonders for me when I got back, and I promptly forgot about my run-in with the giant. It was not until halfway through the pastas (Tagliatelle with oxtail ragu and Fresh Ricotta & Egg Raviolo with browned butter—delicious!) that I realized what had eluded me by the bathroom. First, I saw the same braided giant. And I’m not joking here—he was really a giant. AND THEN—there was another giant behind him! And this one definitely wasn’t on 30 Rock. And then-- behind him— was the homeless looking, even gianter giant who gave it all away-- Pau Gasol!<br /><br />Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m a fair-weather basketball fan. I loosely follow the season and only start to really watch Lakers’ games when the playoffs begin. Even so, when the Lakers have recently made a trade that could make them elite for the first time since they lost the giant of all giants; and they’ve just swept the first round of the playoffs; and you’re eating Mozza pasta; and it’s the Lakers-- meaning all of the Lakers! Together! It’s pretty damn exciting.<br /><br />I love LA. I am a firm believer that when people dis the city it’s because they have too narrow view of it. I think to myself, “if you know my LA, you wouldn’t feel that way.” But how is it possible that I was the only one who started clapping when THE LAKERS came out of the back room? There are some moments when, no matter how nice the restaurant, no matter how important the pitch you’re making, no matter how nice your thong-ie slippers, you hoot and holler like anyone else would. At best, sports bring a city together. They give people a chance to feel passion, pride, and loss in a way they would not otherwise feel safe to feel them. Our premier team just emerged from the secret Warner’s room wedged between the two Mozzas after just sweeping the first round of the play-offs. You clap. Or at least, I clap. Only me. At Mozza.<br /><br />So there we were, half-way through our meal, watching the Lakers lumber out of Mozza. Everyone was there except Kobe. “That’s the trouble with superstars,” I thought to myself. I turned back to R to comment on the fact and then realized that not only was Kobe there, he was standing right behind us. He was, I think, settling the bill (MVP! MVP!). I am proud to say that, as he walked by, I shouted like a little girl “Good luck, Kobe! You’re really great!” Was it insightful? No. Was it reserved and thoughtful and considerate of all the good things and bad things in this man’s past? No. But goddamnit it was fun. R and I both grinned like idiots for the rest of the dinner.<br /><br />I work in movies. I grew up around actors and see them on a regular basis. I hate the idea of going to a place with worse food and more famous people. But at the end of the day, it’s exciting to have a really great celebrity sighting. It actually does heighten the experience. Something special has happened, and when a meal itself is special, forget about it! My friend later informed me that the whole team had gotten together to watch the final Jazz/Rockets game and see who they would face in the next round of the play-offs. How cool is it that they did it at Mozza? Go Lakers! Go LA! But most of all, go Nancy!</span></div>njrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17301535837415583544noreply@blogger.com1