reviews

I have some shout outs that are long overdue.

1. Franny's. Joanie Joan finally gave me a reason to get my butt over to Franny's on Flatbush several weeks ago. I didn't socialize much at the birthday party. Instead I holed up at the bar, chowing down on their organic, sustainable, local, amazing menu. The bruschetta with ricotta cheese and fresh peas was so good tears came to my eyes. The bartender saw, and he understood; he works there for chrissakes. The zucchini fritto was delicate, crispy, summery. The pizzas were perfection. And Joan's boyfriend showing up to surprise her as a birthday treat? Well, that was the icing on the proverbial (organic, sustainable) cake.

2. The Good Fork. Well, you know how I feel about Red Hook. This place is one more jewel in Van Brunt's crown. It is very cute, very good, and the service (though problematic the night we were there) is friendly. I had their signature "steak and eggs and kimchi" and it was weird and wonderful: slices of flavorful juicy steak, nestled into a ball of kimchi rice, topped with a fried egg, eaten with chopsticks.

3. Queen. If you have ever walked down Court street, from Borough Hall to Atlantic, you know it is a gastronomic wasteland. There are some bad delis, a few pizza joints, Wendy's, McDonald's, some tacky looking Italian joint...wait! That tacky looking Italian joint is a FANCY RESTAURANT! And, wait, are those REVIEWS in the window??? It is so very unlikely, but Queen is an excellent Italian restuarant masquerading as a mediocre, suburban mall restaurant. And although few people I know have been there, it was full the night I was there--a Thursday, by the way. The maitre d' is adorable-knowledgeable and friendly. The menu is extensive, and everything we had was terrific. The focaccia they bring to the table is soft and fluffy. We followed it with a fritto misto (calamari, zucchini, lemon) that was so flavorful, red dipping sauce was unnecesary. The arugula, mozzarella, pesto salad was perfect. We had three main courses, one better than the next, with scallops stealing the show.

sorrel

I love my CSA. I paid for my share, but that was weeks and weeks ago, so when I enter the church on Court street, sign in, and start grabbing beautiful produce to take home, I feel like I've won the produce lottery. Last week I got, peaches, cherries, lettuce, radicchio, onions, fava beans (!), and a choice of rosemary, dill, or sorrel.

I had never seen sorrel or tasted sorrel, so I grabbed a bunch figuring I'd learn something. It turns out that sorrel is somewhere between a green and an herb: lemony, earthy, and unique. If used in salads, people suggest mixing it with other greens, because its flavor is very strong. I found several internet recipes for a Jamaican favorite: sorrel soup. I tweaked them some, made my own, and was pretty pleased with the results.

Sorrel Soup

3 cups veggie broth
2 handfuls basmati rice
1 bunch sorrel, washed and de-stemmed
1 tbsp half and half
salt and pepper

Boil veggie broth, add rice
Let rice cook for 8 minutes, stirring now and again
Add sorrel, stir for 1 minute, turn off heat
Use immersion blender to puree the soup
(Rice pieces may fly out at you)
Add half and half and salt and pepper
Stir.
Eat.

i love ditch plains

I’m not sure why, but I think I can count the number of new restaurants I have been to in the past year on one hand. Ack—maybe even on 2 or 3 fingers. I read about restaurant openings, but it is so hard to keep up; they are cropping up like weeds. A few weeks ago I made a short list of places I intended to try this summer, and on this past Monday night, I checked off my first one.

I love Ditch Plains.

Named after a surf area on the North Fork of Long Island, this place purports to be a beachy fish shack, but it’s a bit too clean and classy for that. It serves the ubiquitous NYC $23 lobster roll, clam chowder, mussels, oysters, salmon, burgers, fries, etc. But the food is elegant and excellent, and if it was served in paper baskets and brown paper cones, I really didn’t notice. I remember white porcelain; I wonder if that’s the case.

P and I had:

1. Friendly service. We stayed for nearly 3 hours taking up a huge booth and we were treated with nothing but smiles, and languorous generosity.
2. Good white wine.
3. A spicy fried calamari salad that was unusual and delicious: chopped romaine and radicchio with battered and fried calamari and a spicy red chili salad dressing.
4. Oyster shooters: basically bloody Mary shots with a raw oyster at the bottom. Fantastic.
5. Steamed littleneck clams with our chosen sauce of shallots, white wine, parsley, and butter. They were tiny and flavorful. My only complaint: no bread to soak up the marvelous leftover sauce at the bottom of the pot. We used spoons (classy).
6. A lobster roll that certainly rivaled, if not surpassed, Mary’s Fish camp, served with excellent sweet potato chips.
7. Mississippi Mud Pie, served with our own bottle of whipped cream. Awesome.

So, my dear readers, surf on over to Bedford and Downing, in Manhattan, and if you can walk by ‘ino without being sucked in there first, pop into Ditch Plains.

ireland

There are people who are not very interested in food. A friend of mine in grad school used to eat cup o’ noodles every single day for lunch, and it was clear to me that food, to her, was merely sustenance. There was no pleasure taken in the eating of it, no disgust with too much sodium, no boredom with eating the same thing day after day. The truth was, I think she barely noticed what went into her mouth, and though I pitied her, I was also envious. If I stopped thinking so much about what to eat and when, or how to find the perfect lunch, or fondly remembering the perfect dinner, think how much brain space I would have for other things! Also, nota bene, she was skinny.

The past two weeks I spent in Ireland, and I discovered a nation of cup o’ noodles eaters. When I went to eat in Dublin, I checked two different guidebooks, and the paucity of food recommendations was my first clue that, although a pretty cool city, Dublin is not a place you go to for the food. Things I ate a lot of in Ireland: bacon, sausage, mayonnaise, scones, brown bread, chips and crisps. For two weeks I was hard-pressed to find a vegetable. Chicken curry was served with rice and chips (that’s French fries). It was like “side of vegetables” was never invented. A side salad could be found with some searching, but it was iceberg lettuce with a tomato wedge, some canned corn and “salad cream” on top. Once, my salad had olive oil AND salad cream. One salad, two forms of fat. Very efficient.

But enough negativity; let me mention the few fabulous things I did find. And let me also say that Ireland is a lovely country, full of friendly people, beautiful countryside and amazing history.

1. Sheridan cheese mongers. Right off of Grafton street, in Dublin, this place was a small haven, filled with wheels of cheese from all over the world. I asked a saleswoman to help me with some local Irish cheeses. She guided me through a tasting, based on my likes and dislikes, and I left the store with three wedges of excellent cheese, and a recommendation for a nearby bakery. With cheese that good, why was I having such bad food experiences?
2. La Maison de Gourmets. This French bakery, on Castle Market, was the bakery to which I was directed. I sought it out hoping to find the best scones in the city but discovered when I got there that it was—as the name suggested—strictly French. I bought a traditional boule and an almond croissant, and both were excellent.
3. Angela’s Coffee Emporium. In Clonmel, a small rural city, I struggled mightily with finding decent food. I found it finally here, at Angela’s, an organic sandwich and coffee bar where I could rely on getting good cappucinos, very good scones, and even (gasp!) fruit salad.

Rather than focusing on the worst sandwich ever made, at “The Gourmet Store” in Kilkenny, or the kebab in Dun Laoghire that gave me food poisoning, I will remember those cheeses, goat’s milk-tangy, richly cheddared….

my old haunts

For the past six years, rehearsing different plays has been a way for me to spend concentrated time in different neighborhoods of New York City. The fall and winter of 2002-2003 were spent in the West village, and I got to know all of my favorite cafes and cheap eats. The winter of 2001 was spent in Soho and I came to love La Jumelle, the Soup guy attached to Fanelli, Gourmet Garage, and Pain Quotidien. Several springs were spent on way west 42nd street, and I got to know the 9th avenues treats very well.

This past week was spent rehearsing at Clemente Soto Velez on Suffolk and Rivington, a few short blocks from my old home(s), and I had the opportunity to go back to some old favorites and find a few new treats.

Highlights of the week included:
Sugar Sweet Sunshine, home of rich and delicious cupcakes, and—I found out—an excellent iced coffee.

The Dumpling House on Eldridge, of which I write about often. I introduced it to my castmates, who marveled at the goodness and the cheapness.

Tiny’s Giant Sandwich shop, which has expanded into a not-so-tiny-at all space, with excellent air conditioning and an amazing veggie burger.

Nicky’s Vietnamese sandwiches on 2nd street, home to some truly good banh mi, probably the only real deal banh mi above Houston street.

Frankie’s Spuntino on Clinton, a new place I mentioned in my previous post. Actually, it is an offshoot of the original Brooklyn Frankie’s, which a little researched revealed is only blocks from my apartment. Sometimes you have to travel “far” from home to find what’s right outside your door.

Favism

Hannibal Lecter enjoyed fava beans with roasted human flesh “and a nice Chianti,” understanding, I suppose, the importance of pairing wines appropriately with food. I haven’t had his dish, but I have spent the past 6 or so early summers eating as many fresh favas as I possibly can.

Known sometimes as broad beans, horse beans, Windsor beans or pigeon beans, favas are a little tricky to prepare but absolutely worth the effort. They are starchy and sweet, like peas, but larger and meatier, and hence, more satisfying. Apparently there is a disease called favism, which I assumed was what I am afflicted with: obsession to the point of mania. In fact, it is a potentially fatal response to fresh, raw fava beans that afflicts some people of Mediterranean descent. There are many possible preparations, some of which intrigue me, but I tend to gravitate towards the classic preparations. In the past month I have had several fava dishes that have made me extremely happy.

The first I had at Otto, Mario’s pizza place on 8th street and 5th avenue. He serves thinly sliced cured meat with a mound of favas in the center of the plate. From what I could discern, they were mixed with minced garlic, grated lemon zest, and minced pecorino. This dish was eaten by taking a slice of meat and grabbing a bit of fava, wrapping the meat around the beans, almost like eating Ethiopian food with injera.

The second was my own version of Mario’s. I sautéed favas with garlic and olive oil, then mixed them with halved grape tomatoes and minced grana padano (like parmiagianno reggiano but a little cheaper), and sprinkled with sea salt. It was incredible, if I do say so myself.

The third was the most simple and classic, at Frankie’s Spuntino on Clinton Street: sautéed favas, olive oil, shaved pecorino, and sea salt. I could have licked my plate clean, EASILY. In fact, the waitress tried to take the plate when there was still one bean on it, and like an alcoholic who freaks out when the bartender removes a glass with alcohol residue at the bottom, I lost my cool. Very embarrassing, but that’s what happens when you suffer from favism.

reunion

The eyebrow ridge (minus eyebrows) crushing down on my brain. The parched tongue, the raspy throat. Hazy, sitting at breakfast alone in my small college town. The older couple next to me-- retired professors likely-- discuss housecleaning and later Hans Blix and Mozart's requiem. They know the waitress, know the proprietor, know every single person who passes by.

"This is not New York City," I think to myself. They order "the regular," as the entire young cast of "Peter Pan" sits down for brunch. I order a hangover cure: coffee, water, and sausage/egg/cheese on a bagel.

I had been nervous about coming here. 10 years it's been, and I feel lost, feel scared I have nothing to show for it. I bite into my breakfast sandwich, the cheese dripping grease onto my paper plate. I savor a sausage bite and try to remember if I was a vegetarian when I graduated. In NYC, I don't allow myself breakfasts like this; in NYC, I am never hungover like this.

Chewing slowly and enjoying the silent comraderie of this place, I become pensive, but also I ease up on myself, forgive myself for not knowing exactly where I am going, for having mixed feelings about where I have been. This town, this school, perhaps even this cast of "Peter Pan," they are forgiving and nurturing. They always focused on my best qualities, always encouraged a brand of self deprecation that says: hey, I may be screwing up right now, but I have brains and a lotta potential. These people, they take me as I am.

Hangover Cure

One toasted sesame bagel
2 breakfast sausage links
2 eggs
shredded yellow cheddar cheese

Fry up sausages in a pan, cutting them into pieces as you go
Lower the heat a little
Add two beaten eggs, and later, the handful of grated cheese
Stir slowly, until eggs start to come to the consistency you like
Scoop out onto toasted bagel
Cut in half with a big knife

nature's bounty

"But imagine for a moment if we once again knew, strictly as a matter of course, these few unremarkable things: What it is we're eating. Where it came from. How it found its way to our table. And what, in a true accounting, it really cost. We could then talk about some other things at dinner. For we would no longer need any reminding that however we choose to feed ourselves, we eat by the grace of nature, not industry, and what we're eating is never anything more or less than the body of the world."
--Michael Pollan, "The Omnivore's Dilemma"

May I recommend to you this beautiful, enlightening, and provocative book.
And may I recommend that you really chew on it, really let it get inside you (like a good meal).
And then may I recommend that you make a change, some small change or large,
in recognition of the fact that eating can be a political act.

Choose something whole instead of processed.
Read labels.
Eat organic.
Eat local.
Join a CSA.
Eat slowly.

new york is good eatin'

not much home cooking going on these days, but i have had some solidly good meals at some oldies but goodies.

1. hampton chutney. they have opened an outpost on amsterdam and 80th street (?) and it is quieter, and every bit as good as the soho version. man alive it's a lot of food, but that potato masala is so tasty, the dosa so thin and crispy at the edges--you have to tear the edges off by hand and sample before you dig into the whole thing--and the chutneys are excellent, all of them. also good are the cardomom iced coffee, the ginger lemonade, all those specialty beverages....

2. craftbar. c and i have started a nice tradition of girls' night, small plates and lots of wine. ok, this was only the second, but both have been so excellent, socially and gastronomically, that i am making them a tradition from here on out. the waiter at the bar at craftbar was friendly and knowledgeable. i followed c's experienced lead and had risotto balls, sausage stuffed sage leaves (or shaushage shtuffed shage leaves after a little wine), piave (a hard, italian cow's milk cheese), bresaolo, and grilled octopus. did i mention the great conversation? obviously, almost anything could taste good with c around, but i am pretty sure this was an excellent meal.

3. grimaldi's. don't laugh, but i had never been to this dumbo historical landmark. and people may blog about it's downhill trend, and people may balk at the line, but dude, DUDE! the extra mozzarella, extra basil pizza we got was outstanding. not to be beat. the sausage and mushroom was very very good, but the thing i'll remember, and the thing i'll go back for was that mozzarella basil pie. yowza.

when life gives you lemons

when life gives you lemons, make a really good lemon cake.
(then eat it after a sublime meal, prepared expertly by john, of scallops and braised pork belly)

(from the silver palate cookbook)

2 sticks softened sweet butter
2 cups granulated sugar
3 eggs
2 cups all purpose flour, sifted
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup buttermilk
2 tightly packed tbsp lemon zest (a microplane is a savior for this)
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice (hands'll do ya just fine)
lemon icing
crisco for greasing pan
flour for dusting pan (this one is essential)

preheat oven to 325 degrees
grease and flour a tube or bundt pan
cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. beat in eggs one at a time, blending well after each one
sift together flour, baking soda and salt
stir dry ingredients into egg mixture in batches, alternating with the buttermilk, beginning and endign with dry ingredients
add lemon zest and juice
pour batter into pan and cook on the middle rack for 1 hr and 5 minutes, or until top of cake is browned
cool cake in pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a cooling rack and ice it with the icing below:

1 lb (i box) confectioners sugar
1 stick softened sweet butter
3 tightly packed tbsp lemon zest
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

cream sugar and butter thoroughly, then mix in zest and juice, spread on warm cake

the best of intentions

I read in the NY Times that it was ramp season. Nearly 32 years old, and unless a chef snuck it onto my plate, I have never eaten a ramp. So, passing near Union Square one weekday in the first week of May, I bought a bunch from a farmer, asking him what I should do with them. "They're good with anything!" he offererd cheerfully but unhelpfully. When in doubt, I thought, saute it with eggs. But I didn't get that far; I'm never home and lately somehow too rushed even to make breakfast. The ramps grew old and soft on my refrigerator shelf, until I threw them away. Ramp season-- a brief window-- now over.

That didn't stop me from buying half a pound of gorgeous fresh rhubarb at Union Square the following week. I imagined the compote I would make, and how good it would taste over plain yogurt. I imagine lots of things, and my imagination is mostly a more perfect place than my reality. This held true for the rhubarb, which I oversweetened and overcooked. I tried to eat it over a bowl of hot oatmeal, and thought to myself as I chewed, "This is one of the worst things I have ever made."

Lately the gap between the world I hope and plan for and the world I've got has been seeming frustratingly large. The ramps are a reminder that my schedule is for shit, and the rhubarb is a reminder that I can fail at things, even when they seem failsafe. Failures in the kitchen are frustrating-- especially when they involve beautiful seasonal ingredients that won't be available again for a while--but I try to see each one as a learning experience. The real challenge is to apply that same kind of thinking to the world outside the kitchen. Failures can be beautiful...? I'm trying it on for size.

i have to find a man who thinks like this

"Later on, when he saw her consume a side of veal without breaking a single rule of good table manners, he commented seriously that that delicate, fascinating, and insatiable proboscidian was in a certain way the ideal woman..."

-100 Years of Solitude

mario's my brother

Five or so years ago I was living in a very small apartment, on a very tight budget, with no cable. I received about six stations on my TV, and a result, rarely changed the channel from a fledgling, geeky station called The Food Network. Ah yes, perhaps, you have (now ) heard of them. I developed substantial relationships with Alton Brown, Sara Moulton, and even goofy, inexplicable Rachel Ray. The love of my television life, however, became Mario Batali.

He was knowledgable, like Alton, but not overly technical. He was competent, like Sara, without being anemic. He was personable, like Rachel, without being, well, annoying. He lived and breathed Italian food, enriching his counterside demonstrations with the culinary and cultural history of each dish. Before then, I had never heard of Emilia-Romagna, now, because of him, it haunts my foodie daydreams.

I made pilgrimage to Lupa and Babbo, and was delighted to find he was no joke. These places confirm his simple genius.

For Christmas this past year, I received his latest cookbook as a gift. I cracked the spine this past weekend for the first time, cooking dinner with Laurie and Will. We made 3 dishes, 2 of which I loved, But Laurie says she loved all 3. Amazingly, we had no pasta; we had instead:

cauliflower pancakes
braised red cabbage
olive polenta with shitake mushrooms
and will's awesome turkey burgers

The recipe for the cabbage follows:

Cavola al Aceto
6 servings

1 medium head of red cabbage
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 medium red onion, sliced
2 tbsp caraway seeds
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
salt and fresh ground pepper

Remove the tough outer leaves of the cabbage
Cut into quarters, core, and slice into 1/ inch strips
Heat a large heavy bottomed pot, add olive oil and heat untill smoking
Add onion and caraway seeds and cook until onion is soft
Add cabbage, sugar and vinegar, stir well
Cover pot and cook until cabbage is quite tender, about 20 minutes
Season with salt and pepper

Classic Mario because it is simple, fast, delicious.

round-up

I haven't done a highlights post in a while. Food has not been getting top priority, I am sad to say. Way too many Clif bars of late.

1. Redbones. In Somerville, Mass. this past weekend, checking out Choopville, I was brought to Redbones, a BBQ haven, by people who knew I can appreciate such a place. I didn't order ribs, so I cannot compare it to LC's, didn't even want to. Instead, we pounded down collard greens, corn bread, mac and cheese, pulled pork, and--god bless them!--corn fritters sitting in a gentle pool of maple syrup. We did what you do when you enter a spot such as this: you nauseate yoruself with gastronomic pleasure, eat til you drop, eat til you have to undo the top button, and groan groan groan all the way home.

2. Sesame Pancake. I took the Fung Wah bus back from Massachusetts, and was deposited, at lunchtime, on Canal and Bowery. Trooped my way over to Dumpling House at Eldridge and Broome, and bought myself a sesame pancake with beef. It's a bahn mi meets a scallion pancake, and one of my favorite things on earth. I decided to avoid a second course of fried-ness by not ordering the divine dumplings, and went for the $1 wonton soup instead. Big mistake, becasue the dumplings are insanely good, and the soup, I found out, is not.

3. El Deportivo (Hell's Kitchen). For 5 months I dated a fella who lived on 49th and 9th. Every time we walked by the dingy yet appealing El Deportivo restaurant, he would say: I love that place. Yet we never ate there. A metaphor? Perhaps. Last Friday night, my dinner date sick at home, I popped into El Deportivo after all this time. I sat at the counter and watched the ladies make cubanos, plate up rice and use big silver tongs to drag meat out of heaters. This place makes all their food at the beginning of the day, keeps it heated, then plates it up when it's ordered. There are daily specials, so it's not a huge menu. Not gourmet, but authentic (and cheap), nonetheless. I had roasted chicken, black beans and rice, with a side of tostones. the chicken and the tostones were awesome. The rice and beans were "eh." I'll definitely go back and finally be brave and try something radical, like mofongo, which caught my eye.

4. Hold the pasta. Two nights ago, home after a long night of tutoring, I looked into my fridge at the bowl of blanched broccoli rabe and the half used jar of decent tomato sauce and wondered what the heck I could eat that wouldn't be too filling (it was 10:45 pm). I made a bowl of broccoli rabe parmesan (pour fresh grated parm on top, heat in microwave) and fell in love. Last night I repeated the affair with the only decent vegetable I could find at Key Food at 10:30 pm--zucchini. I roasted the zucchini with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and then doused it in sauce, sprinkled parm...voila! a new favorite is born. It's a tasty pasta dish, hold the pasta.

blind taste tests

In the early 80's, I participated in the Pepsi Challenge. My palate not being refined as it is today, I "failed" the challenge, thinking that the Coke was Pepsi, or maybe it was that I preferred Coke over Pepsi, something that's not hard to do. Now, with 20 years of caramel colored soda addiction under my belt, I can taste the difference between a diet Coke and a caffeine free Diet Coke; I am THAT GOOD.

In college my Polish theatre professor would have a blind vodka challenge at his end-of-the-year party. Senior year I picked the expensive Polish vodka and was thrilled to have passed that particular test with flying colors; it made me feel sophisticated and knowledgeable. I like the idea of eating while blindfolded. Apparently in some culinary programs, this is how they train you to know and understand spices. Would I know the difference between tarragon and herbes de provence if my eyes were closed? Well, I'd like to, anyway.

I love, also, the idea of eating blindly in a more metaphorical sense. I have heard of small restaurants in the italian countryside where you walk in, sit down, and eat whatever Dona Sophia puts in front of you. What a relief not to have to choose! Oh how I yearn to trust a cook like that. A few weeks ago at Cacio e Pepe in the East village, I couldn't decide between the gnocchi and the fettucine. When I asked the waiter for his advice, he replied simply: I'll suprise you! I was delighted and the gnocchi was excellent.

In theory, a blind date should hold the same appeal. My own ability to choose between the male equivalent of the gnocchi or the male equivalent of the fettucine is questionable at best. The friend (or in my case, usually the friend of the mother) can be the helpful waiter (or Dona Sophia herself), making culinary decisions for me. But my helpful waitstaff keeps sending me dishes I don't like, and I don't think I am even such a picky eater. Some friends of mine might argue that in fact I have a predilection for....say...cappelini in a lemon butter sauce, and that even when I think I am ordering something different, a closer look will reveal cappellini, and butter, and lemon, in some combination or other. Perhaps they are right; but I simply don't like tuna melts. I think they are nasty, and morally wrong and no amount of nose holding or forced swallowing will change my mind. Have I dragged this poor metaphor out long enough? Basta.

cheese, glorious cheese

In the 80's, on TVs here in NYC, ran a series of commercials paid for by the American Cheese board, to the tune of "Food, glorious food," from the musical "Oliver!" It was the first time I noticed that commercials were allowed to buy a perfectly good song, and then put in their own silly words to help sell a product. Remember Minute Maid's "You are the sunshine of my life" campaign? It was years before I knew that was a terrific song by Stevie Wonder.

The truth is, though, that those cheese board guys are right. Cheese is glorious, especially when you make it into a cake. It's a no-brainer, really: cheese is glorious, cake is glorious, hence cheesecake= double glorious. I love all kinds of cheesecake. There's the NY style straight-up cream cheese cake. There is the Italian-style ricotta cheesecake at Venieros that I love so much. There's the cheesecake at Cafe Lalo on the UWS that Billy and I used to share, latenight. I even like the vegan pumpkin cheesecake at Candle Cafe.

A few nights ago, for my friends, glorious friends, I made a chevre cheesecake, modified from a recipe that Gourmet printed. It is apparently from Mecca, a restaurant in San Francisco. It calls for a separately made shortbread crust which I have omitted. Also, the recipe for the poached pears calls for cardomom pods, which I did not use, and it still tasted great.

For cheesecake:
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
3/4 cups granulated sugar
1/2 vanilla bean
8 oz. soft mild goat cheese
1 8 oz. package cream cheese, softened
3 large eggs

For spiced poached pears:
1 cup Ruby Port
1 cup sugar
1/4 cups water
5 strips orange zet
5 strips lemon zest
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 cinnamon stik
1 1/2 tsp black peppercorns
1 1/2 tsp cardamom pods
1 1/2 tsp juniper berries
1/2 vanilla bean
2 firm ripe Anjou pears

Preheat oven to 325 degrees
Wrap outside of 9 inch springform pan with a large sheet of heavy duty tin foil to waterproof it.
Butter the pan and line the bottom with a round of parchment, then butter it
Gently dust pan with sugar (oh wow, I forgot this part)
Boil cream with 3/4 cup sugar in a heavy suacepan over a moderately high heat, uncovered.
Stir occassionally until reduced, about 8 minutes.
Transfer cream to a metal bowl and set the bowl in a large bath of ice water, cooling it to room temperature.
Halve vanilla bean lengthewise and scrape seeds into a large bowl.
Add goat cheese, cream cheese, then beat with electric mixer until fluffy, 2 minutes.
Reduce speed to low and add crream in 3 batches, mixing well after each addition.
Add eggs, 1 at a time, mixing well after each one.
Pour batter into springform pan, put in a roasting pan, in 1 inch lukewarm water (this is called a "bain marie")
Bake until cake appears set but still trembles slightly at the center when gently shaken, about 1 hour.
Run a knife around edge of cake to loosen it, cool completely in springform.
Chill for 8 hours or as long as you have time for before your guests arrive!

Cut a round of parchment the size of your saucepan, set it aside.
Stir together port, sugar, water, zests, lemon juice, spices and vanilla bean in saucepan and bring to a boil.
Peel and quarter and core pears, then add to port mixture and cover surface directly with the parchment round.
Poach pears at a bare simmer until tender, about 25-30 minutes.
Remove from heat, cool, then chill for 8 hours.
After cooling, take pears out of liquid and pour liquid throuhg a fine sieve, discard solids.
Return liquid to saucepan and boil uncovered over hight heat until slightly thickened, about 8 minutes.
Cool. Add pears again.

Serve cake with pears.

school food

my elementary school food experience was atypical. i remember little of it, but i can say that there was no processed food, and virtually no pre-packaged food. there was an ice cream freezer and a refrigerated case full of dannon yogurt (we collected the cardboard discs you could pop off the top), but these were the only excpetions. for most american students, however, the food is:

rehydrated
processed
irradiated
full of trans fats
grade D
etc.

this past saturday i attended a school food conference hosted by the baum forum at the CUNY graduate center. for 8 hours, experts in the field of nutrition, sustainability and education gathered to talk about the movement to change the way kids think about food and change the way they eat. most kids eat 2 meals a day at school, so it's a logical place to make a difference, and try to halt the obesity epidemic (did you know that unless trends change, 1 out of every 3 kids born in 2000 will be an obese adult?! it shoots up to 1 in 2 when you focus on blacks and latinos).

the programs represented do everything from teaching cooking and nutrition to kids after school, to including gardening into the curriculum, and then using the fruits and vegetables in the cafeteria. alice waters' edible schoolyard in oakland is a paradigm that many people are beginning to emulate. basically: the way things are now is not the way it has to be. we watched a documentary about school children in rome. when the camera focused on a lunch lady grating fresh parmesan on student lunches, i laughed out loud.

if you want to get involved in the school food movement in any way, let me know and i can direct you towards involvement (e.g.: writing letters to lawmakers in an attempt to get vending machines out of schools).

love shack, baby

two dress down friday'd business guys pull up at the curb next to me and hop out of a cab. one looks at his watch and the other one sprints to the already significant line that has formed outside the shake shack in madison square park. when the second man and i amble up and join the first guy, he points to his watch, nodding and grinning like the cat who caught the canary, "see? 11:30." i'd felt silly arriving for lunch before noon, but no worries, i didn't get my food until 12:22 p.m., a perfectly respectable time to dig in.

" who has time for this?" the man behind me snarked to his girlfriend, both of them on a strict one hour lunch break. and i am wondering the same. who but me, with my underfilled work schedule can wait an hour for her food? and as i am eating, the line is now twice as long as it was. by 1:15 the line is snaking around the curved paths of the park. the people at the back have a two hour wait ahead of them; maybe fridays are slow at their firms?

don't get me wrong, this food is terrific. i got a "shake shack burger" (which was hard for me, since it comes with special sauce and i am a true blue mustard and ketchup on my burger gal), an order of fries, and a black and white milkshake. i ordered nearly perfectly. next time, i'll get a double burger (i could use the protein, yo), share the fries with a friend (note to self: find friend who can go on midday food excursions), and stick with the divine black and white.

i went to the shake shack once before, a year or so ago and got a chocolate peanut butter concrete ( i was a vegetarian, so had to pass on the burgers). at the time i had never heard of a concrete, and was mystified but its solidity and richness. now i have been to the midwest and eaten at a dairy queen and the famous ted drewes in st. louis, so i am like a pro, or whatever. for this reason, i felt comfortable moving on to the traditional shake, and i was not disappointed. it was crazy creamy and rich and the small size was totally reasonable; i didn't feel like barfing at the end.

it was a beautiful day--68 degrees and sunny, and i had nowhere to be. i'd walked over the brooklyn bridge, and stood behind a dog on line. i was reading a good book, and getting in some good nyc eavesdropping, so all was well. but for you regular people, with regular lives, i am not sure a 2 hour wait is reasonable. the burgers are really good, as are the "probably fried in lard" fries, but i am not sure it's worth, say, losing your job over.

how to be a foodie without being a fatty?

if i make that chevre cheesecake that i tore out the recipe for, it's going to be in my house, and it will need to be eaten. for this reason, i have not yet made it, and consequently, not yet blogged about it. the only thing keeping me from going to the dumpling house on eldridge street three times a week, is my desire to stay thin. for this reason, i have not yet written about their peerless dumplings, and the amazing scallion pancake stuffed with mystery meat.

i eat clif bars and healthy choice ice cream-- both of which i've convinced myself taste great, but in reality cannot compare to a five-star bar and a bowl of ben and jerry's-- to make space for more calorically intensive and more sporadic food forays. if my career is a mess (it is), if my love life's a muddle (i think it might be), at least i'm thin! thank goodness for my rock-hard abs, i think to myself, when times get tough.

inspired by this week's beautiful new yorker piece by calvin trillin, i went out and finally bought myself his "tummy trilogy." trillin, like myself, is a completer. "the last piece of food i left on my plate," he recalls, " that was in the fall of 1958, as i remember-- had a bug on it." trillin celebrates his own belly and also the corpulence of others. in particular, he talks about his buddy fats goldberg, a formerly fat pizza man who got down to half his size by maintaining an extremely restrictive diet. several times a year, however, he heads to his hometown of kansas city and for a week will let himself go wild. he once gained 17 POUNDS IN A WEEK. this man sort of disgusts me but also he's sort of my hero.

i guess this entry is an apology, to you my loyal small readership, for not eating more, and therefore writing more. if given my druthers, i suspect i would, like a cow who needs to be brought back to the barn, go out to pasture and not know when to stop. i, too, might gain 17 pounds in a week, and so, you see, you have to forgive me. being a foodie without being a fatty is a very difficult thing, and often it entails just saying "no."

tramps like us

5 days in missouri, oklahoma, texas and kansas; this is what i learned.

1. chicken fried steak is neither chicken nor steak. talk amongst yourselves.

2. i have always thought i didn't like beer. i had my first taste at a teenage house party in milton keynes, england. it was from a one liter screwtop plastic bottle, and was sipped tentatively out of a porcelain teacup. it was flat and acrid; i was 14 and it was a bad beginning for me and beer. i spent the next 16 years or so avoiding it altogether, making rare exceptions for a stella artois on a hot summer night. st. louis' microbrew, schlafly, tasted surprisingly good to me. it turns out i like hefeweisen (and also their pale ale).

3. this does not sound like a recipe for success: take some meat, dry it out until it looks like a piece of leather. cure it in 3 kinds of sugar and a pint of jim beam. and yet! driving through oklahoma, a piece of jerky is just the thing to keep your mouth company as you gaze at the farmland.

4. the back of a pick-up truck is a great place to eat lunch. better if the car is not moving.

5. when southerners get their panties in a twist about barbecue, it is hard for a northern girl to relate. i'll wax rhapsodic about pizza or bagels but i've never had barbecue that helped me understand what all the fuss is about. in kansas city-- on what i imagine was the "wrong side of the tracks" in kansas city, at LC's, i was shown the light.

the smoker doors were black and greasy and every time they were opened a giant waft of smoke and bbq flavor engulfed the place. j and i giggled with anticipation at the sight of the giant hunks of meat smoking away on the stacked racks. when j picked up his "mixed plate" and my "short end," piled high on slices of wonder bread, a jolly woman beside us laughed and said "my boy is the same way: skinny as a rail but he sure can pack it away."

to the background sounds of "wheel of fortune" we slobbered and smacked and groaned and moaned. i swear i have never tasted baked beans before that night, (they may have been called "baked beans," but they were a sham) and i was grateful for a travel mate who understood the need for a journey to find a dinner like that. NOW i have had bbq, and i'll happily reciprocate if any of those kansans want to come to town and have, say, an H and H bagel.

say cheese

an unseasonably warm day, a long walk across the gowanus, from park slope to carroll gardens. a chance to check out caputo's on court street and 3rd place. inside i find one of the remaining italian food purveyors that still line court street as you head down from atlantic on court. pastry shops, green grocers, pizzerias, and butchers. caputo's reminds me of the places i frequented in downtown manhattan with my mother when i was a child (russo's, raffetto's). they have freezers full of ravioli, gnocchi, and tortelloni. shelves of capers, and tapenades. refrigerated display cases full of cheeses and salamis. and on an open table, along with the olives, bowls full of fresh mozzarella, sitting in vats of water.

i bought a small ball of cheese. "salty?" the guy asks. when i nod yes, he picks up the cheese with silver tongs and swirls it in a vat of cloudy salt water. i ogle everything, but try to keep in mind that i am leaving in a few days for a trip. i restrain myself by buying only a bag of pumpkin tortelloni, a bag of pumpkin gnocchi, the cheese, and a fine looking crusty italian bread.

the pumpkin gnocchi i ate tonight as i watched "sopranos." as i emptied them into the boiling water, i read the list of ingredients and was confused to see "amaretto cookies" listed as part of the filling. sure enough they were almost cloyingly sweet--potato pockets filled with cheese and...cookies? but cut with the acidic tomato sauce and topped with peas and pine nuts, they were pretty tasty.

best of all, though, was the sandwich i made upon my return from caputo's yesterday:

1 hunk of crusty italian bread
1/2 ripe avocado
2 thick slices of creamy fresh caputo's mozzarella

break bread open, split into 2 halves
spoon soft avocado onto each piece and mash into the bread
top with a slice of cheese

savor. devour.
if necessary, repeat.

despana

my most recent trip to spain, about two years ago, was primarily a gastronomic tour. if forced to get more specific, it was primarily "un viaje de jamon" which for you non spanish speakers translates roughly as "vacation of ham." i had chorizo, serrano, butifarra, etc.

when i arrived there, i was a struggling vegetarian, but after worshipping at the tapas altar (a pilgrim on a journey seeking taste), i left as a meat sinner, a fallen vegetarian, having taken a bite not of an apple, but of the pig, roasting slowly, with an apple in its mouth. for me, spain is synonymous with sausage, and god bless.

this past weekend i popped into despana, a small gourmet spanish food shop, newly opened at broome between lafayette and centre street. the first thing to mention is the abundance of samples. small spanish clay dishes proffer sausage bites, olives, tapenades, excellent cheeses, sauteed marcona almonds (flat and soft), and various olive oils. a girl could fill up on these alone and there seems to be no taboo against rolling up sleeves and digging in.

if you still have room after all that madness, order a bocadillo at the back counter. for $8, four of us shared a chorizo, manchego, and honey sandwich, while standing at the marble slabbed free-standing counter. the guy even cut it into quarters for us, and it was excellent.

unexpectedly, the highlight for me was a fried morsel of morcilla. it was a dark, rich purple which i suspected signalled "blood sausage." blood sausage is made by boiling blood until it gelatinizes, then mixing it with ground pork parts, cereal of some kind, and spices. i knew i would not try it if i was certain of its identity, so i popped it blindly in my mouth and was pleased by its mellow, deep richness. "is that blood sausage?" i asked tentatively, as i licked my lips. the counter guy smiled slyly and nodded, pleased with making yet another new convert.

rise

cooking is for sloppy improvisors; baking is for precise chemists; bread making is for patient, precise nurturers. i am not particularly patient. i am not at all precise, and i not really a nurturer, though it is a quality i really do admire. encouraging a yeast-based product to rise is a gentle, intuitive process that i have never mastered. i baked challah a few times, and although it was delicious in its own way, it never really rose properly, and was oddly flat and dense. i inherited from katie, who got it from emily's mom, a fantastic cinnamon raisin swirl bread recipe that is oddly foolproof. and there end my forays into baking.

mostly i suffer from a failure to rise (i am only 5 foot 2. sometimes i wonder if my mother looks at me, and thinks: i am no baker. my daughter has had a failure to rise. they said she would double in size, but...). recipes say that the dough will double in size and mine barely change at all. until i take that bread baking course in france that i have been eyeing, i won't know what exactly i am doing wrong, but i wonder if it is about how i am storing my little yeats packets.

this morning i made a focaccia, because the instructions on my baking cookbook (how to bake, by nick malgieri) called it "easy." even if you are half-distracted by an overly-affectionate cat, and email and a ringing phone? apparently, yes! i did almost nothing right: it calls for water of a certain temperature, and i did not use a thermometer. it calls for 2 tsp of salt in the dough and i absentmindedly only put in one, realizing only when it was too late.

i topped it with a few food gifts i had lying around.

1. sel gris. a holiday gift from my friend, it is from a compnay called le tresor, and it is "hand raked from the celtic sea in france." if that is actually true, then i marvel at the strangeness of it being here, in my apartment in brooklyn, being used to top an italian bread.

2. white truffle oil. there has been much talk lately of this stuff being ridiculous and fake, using artificial truffle flavoring instead of the essence of real truffles. this much is true--it said so on the label. but it has that familiar smoky earthiness and a family i work for gave it to me one night as we talked about food over their kitchen table.

i just ate a piece, fresh out of the oven, and it is excellent. fortunately quite unlike the extremely thick, doughy stuff that has come to be thought of as focaccia in the states, of late. it is fairly thin (what with my rising problems and all), crunchy on the outside, but soft right in the center, and excellently flavored by the french sea salt, fresh rosemary sprigs and drizzle of white truffle oil.

easy italian focaccia

1 1/3 cups warm tap water (about 110 degrees)
2 1/2 tsp (1 envelope) dry active yeast
6 tbsp oilve oil
3 1/4 cups unbleached all purpose flour
2 tsp salt
my toppings:
2 tsp sel gris
2 tsp white truffle oil
1 branch of fresh rosemary

measure water into a bowl and whisk in yeast and 3 tbsp of olive oil
combine flour and salt in a separate bowl
with a rubber spatula, combine the yeast mixture with the flour mixture, until all flour is evenly moistened
it then says to "beat it vigorously" but i have no idea what this means.
i just kept turning it over with the spatula until it looked like dough

cover bowl with plastic wrap and let if rise for 1 hour, until it "doubles in size."

spread 1 1/2 tbsp of remaining olive oil onto a jelly roll pan
dump dough onto it and press it out , trying to get it to reach the corners of the pan. mine didn't.
cover with oiled saran wrap pieces (i sprayed mine with pam)
let rise for another hour

preheat oven to 450 degrees and set your rack to the bottom third of the oven

when focaccia is done rising, use finger to make dimples every two inches
pur a drop of truffle oil into each dimple
sprinkle entire bread with sel gris (or whatever kind of sea salt you have)
stick a rosemary sprig into every dimple

bake for 25 minutes until golden brown on top

i saw the baby jesus

by way of an update:

first instincts are to be respected. this is a lesson i must learn again and again. the other week, i grabbed first the peanut five star bar, and after switching for a second choice (fruit and nut), i suffered the consequences. i was, you may recall, uninspired.

the peanut version is remarkable, transcendant, divine. inspired. it has a texture i have never encountered before--smooth, with flecks of crispness. creamy, god, i couldn't eat it all at once, and there is almost nothing i do not eat all at once (i am a completer). i knew that if i ate it all at once, that would mean there was none for later, nothing to look forward to. there are people, apparently, who save food all the time; i am not one of them.

as i tutored an 8th grader the other night, the conversation turned to candy. do you like peanut butter? i asked. her face lit up, as it never does when we talk about convection and conduction. i told her about the five star peanut bar and she told me about her obsession: a peanut butter chocolate confection she and her mom had spotted on the food network's "food finds." they were out of their number 1 favorite, "colt's bolts," but my 8th grader's mom (skinny as a rail--she has a chocolate addiction that rivals mine? impossible) shared with me a "truffle baby," made by this same company colts chocolates in nashville.

it was good. quite good, with a whole almond buried in the center. but it was no five star bar. i give it 3 out of 5, but that's it.

dive

my new friend and i managed to spend several hours of friday early evening pretending that we were in some other city, and some other time. this is why nyc is the king of cities, because it is itself and several other places in the world, all rolled into one. as we bravely dove into a rather unusual second meeting, we celebrated with visits to 2 dives.

first stop: the burger joint, tucked away in the lobby of the swish parker meridien hotel. enter the hotel at 118 west 57th street. between the two front desks, find the brown floor to ceiling curtain with a small neon hamburger sign over it. part the curtains and you are suddenly inside a shitty, ceiling-tiled, nappy-smelling greasy spoon. there are burgers and fries. and beer. and soda. and milkshakes, or so it said on the hand-written sign. the burgers are perfectly sized and well-dressed, wrapped in white butcher paper, and oozing juices. the fries are shoestring, mcdonalds style, staining their paper bag with their golden grease. i half expected to see sawdust on the floor. as it says oh-so-modestly on the parker meridien website: "no complication, no confusion, just great burgers and fries."

the second stop was the subway inn, on 60th and lex. having discovered it the night before, by bringing myself back i instantly became a regular. awkwardly squashed between modern storefronts and the 59th street subway station, it is the most unlikely place you would ever expect to find on the (sorta) upper east side. i have walked by it for years, and suspected it held untold treasures inside. it does: red vinyl booths, a dusky light, and dirt cheap top-shelf liquor. the crowd, just as at the burger joint, is diverse and unchartable. who are these people, i wondered? where do they come from, and where do they go?

i don't know why a dive is called a dive. what are the characteristics? is it grime on the walls, or affordable booze? a gruffness on the part of the waitstaff, or a complete lack of pretension? as a verb, the word has a head-first connotation; for that reason, i do know why diving into things is scary. and also necessary. i never do it in a swimming pool, but i try to do it on dry land. my new friend and i, we dove, and for the first time there was a synchronicity for me between "dive" the location, and "dive" the verb.

here comes the bride

people always talk about "the year all my friends got married;" this is mine. between may and october of this year, i will attend 7 weddings (that i know of so far). once upon a time, when a girl got married, it meant the beginning of her life as a personal chef. young women needed to learn quickly how to make a roast, whip mashed potatoes and bake a layer cake. because if you weren't any good in the sack at first, hey! maybe you could make up for it with a perfectly roast chicken. and perhaps, vice versa.

for my friends, mostly getting married at 30 or so, they are already cooks or not, and marriage certainly isn't going to change them. their fellas have already, um, tasted their roast chickens, and agreed to marry them, regardless. some of these fellas cook wayyyyyy better than my girlfriends. some of these couples live exclusively on takeout.

despite all this, bridal showers still occasionally include the old fashioned recipe exchange. just yesterday my friend who cooks nothing more complicated than a microwave dinner, emailed me frantically looking for a vegetarian recipe for a bridal shower she is going to. i whipped out an old classic, the miso onion recipe i stole from laurie a million moons ago.

it goes like this:

BAKED MISO ONIONS

4 cups quartered sweet spanish onions (3 medium onions)
2 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp barley miso or red miso
3 tbsp water ( i usually use closer to 4)
1 tsp dried thyme

preheat oven to 425 degrees
place onions in a baking pan
in a bowl stir togeher oil, miso, water and thyme and spoon/pour over onions
if this seems like not enough sauce (the more the better), make another half batch of sauce and pour it over also
cover and bake for 35 minutes or until onions are soft

these are pretty good right away but are significantly better after sitting in a tupperware overnight in the fridge, steeping in their own delicious miso juice. and i am pretty sure that one taste of these and your brand new husband will be very happy with the choice he made.

"hors d'oeuvres"

i put the title in quotes because the hors d'oeuvres i made today were props for a movie. i was instructed that they needn't taste any good (phew!), just look good enough to eat. this presented a particular challenge to me, who is bad with creative details, and whose food usually tastes pretty good but doesn't always look that pretty.

it was a blast. i composed platters with an eye towards color, and hopefully the extras playing party guests actually didn't mind the taste either. the menu was as follows:

1. shrimp cocktail, presented on a bed of wasabi peas.
2. mini potato pancakes with sour cream dollops and dill sprigs
3. spinach and cheese phyllo triangles on a platter with a dish of pomegranate seeds, for color
4. pumpernickel toasts with cucumber rounds, a piece of smoked salmon, a dollop of sour cream and a dill sprig
5. petit toasts with spread with herbed goat cheese and garnished with three capers
6. blanched asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto strips

and damn if they didn't look beautiful! and damn if you can't make mini potato pancakes BAKED instead of FRIED!
and i am still high on the fumes of creativity and success.

five stars

i am a chocolate ho; i'll eat almost any kind, no matter how debased. m and m's make me as happy as a hand-dipped jacques torres bonbon. mind you, this does not apply to cakes or cookies. i will gnaw my knuckles rather than eat a duncan hines cake, and lick the sidewalk rather than eat a chips ahoy. but when it comes to candy, it's all the same to me.

my friend laurie has been showering me with books of food writing, of late. the latest addition to my collection is "best of food writing, 2004," and i have been devouring it like it was a bag of good chocolate. the articles are excellent, and cover a wide swath of content and style. one piece, however, has walked away with my heart. a man named steve almond, a candyfreak, wrote a piece about the five star gourmet chocolate bars made by a company called lake champlain chocolates. before now, i didn't think food writing could make me laugh out loud. he writes as i wish i could write, tastes as i wish i could taste. in short, i am planning on writing him a letter and asking him to mentor me, i dunno, marry me, fuse his brain with mine, what have you.

a highlight: steve, completely obsessing over this new chocolate bar, goes to the factory to meet their "chocolate engineer."

"i suppose i was aware, in an abstract way," he writes, "that there were men and women upon this earth who served in this capacity, as chocolate engineers. in the same way that i was aware that there are job titles out there such as bacon taster and sex surrogate, which is to say, job titles that made me want to weep over my own appointed lot in life."

steve almond's writing was so winsome, that i became mildly obsessed with the five star bar, and wondered when i might come upon one. yesterday, in garden of eden (the store, not the biblical location), as i approached my cashier, i glanced down briefly at the sucker shelves. the sucker shelves are the shelves at the front stocked with all manner of overpriced chocolates and mints and gum, and from which i have never bought a thing in my whole life. there, right in front of me were some five star bars, looking nothing like what i had expected. small, like fancy chunky bars, they were thick and compact. i grabbed a peanut one, then remembered that the chocolate engineer himself loves the fruit and nut, and so made a quick swap.

i eat many of my meals on the run, which is no way to enjoy something. i really tried to hold onto the bar and save it for when i was still, maybe even seated, but i am an impatient girl, especially in regards to food. i pulled it out as i exited the astor place station, unwrapped it on the stairwell, and sunk my teeth in.

it's really good. steve almond is right, i suppose, but i didn't see the baby jesus, or cry with joy or anything. maybe i should have had the peanut instead? in moments like this i am reminded what makes greatness, and it's obsession. last weekend in baltimore i saw a 6 foot long model of the lusitania made out of matchsticks ("2 1/2 years of work," read the museum label), and had the same thought. steve almond is a great food writer because this bar made his head explode, and sent him on a journey to figure out how and why and where it was made. and he studied these bars as though it were rocket science, and wrote a beautiful piece about them, as though it were moby freakin' dick. 5 stars to you, steve almond, my food-obsessed new friend.

island living

4 women, one small island, and a freezer full of meat. like the colorful cartoon geckos we stayed up trying to make into a sensical whole, the refrigerator, too, was a puzzle. egg, cheese, bacon, potatoes, brussel sprouts, apples, peanut butter and three loaves of wheat bread.

what drink can you make with rum, cold coffee, sugar, milk and cinnamon? what lunch can you make with what you've got on hand? how can you satisfy a late-night sweet craving when there is no grocer on the corner selling 6 kinds of frozen yogurt?
the answers: a connie surprise, a turkey/cheddar/apple sandwich, and a homemade apple crisp.

and how do you make three travelers feel welcome and loved? you stew them a pot of short ribs on the stove all day, for them to tackle after a day at the white sandy beach.

this morning, back on my usual island, i am snowed in. looking at my own fridge, i came up with the following breakfast. and it was very, very good.

scrambled eggs with leeks

1/2 leek, white part only, thinly sliced in half moons
knob butter
1 egg, and 1 egg white
sharp white cheddar, shredded on the microplane
salt and pepper

melt butter in a small saute pan. toss in the sweetly smelling leeks, and saute slowly over a medium to low heat, sprinkling them with salt and pepper somewhere in that process. lower the heat. meanwhile scramble your egg and egg white, and when the leeks are nice and soft, and maybe a little bit browned, pour in the egg mizture, and use your heat-resistant spatula to stir the egg mixture slowly. when the eggs are almost ready, toss in the finely grated cheese. toss onto your plate, and devour.
* a note about eggs: they are best when scrambled slowly over a very low heat. when i waited tables at bette's diner in berkeley, i learned from the masters. "we serve our eggs french style," we were trained to say, "they are cooked slowly over a low heat and are therefore quite soft, though not undercooked."

lamb

my birthday gift to laurie was really a birthday gift to myself. i can't remember the last time i made anything more complicated than a pot of soup. it's been weeks, and i miss cooking. the birthday dinner was my opportunity to get in front of the stove again and to have friends over and entertain.

"food and wine" magazine has been arriving at my house and i figured the only thing separating the magazine from being a coaster, was using some of the recipes. i chose braised lamb shanks with cilantro pesto. braising is a slow-cooking technique that basically involves searing the meat, and then letting it cook in liquid at a low temperature for a long time. when you eat meat that falls off the bone, it has likely been braised.

having come to my culinary pubescence during my vegetarian years, i don't have that much experience cooking meat. i was suprised to find that i did not enjoy handling the bloody, raw stuff. the outcome was good, but in truth, i do not think i will be cooking giant hunks of lamb for quite some time.

the recipe is for six shanks but i made only four, while changing none of the other proportions. also, we drank it with scotch on the rocks: good stuff my buddy chris bought for me for my birthday in edinburgh last summer.

braised lamb shanks with roasted broccoli and squash

1/4 plus 3 tbsp e.v.o.o.
6 med. lamb shanks, about 6 pounds
salt and fresh pepper
2 cups dry white wine
4 cups chicken stock or low sodium broth
2 med onions, coarsely chopped
1 celery rib, coarsely chopped
1 large carrot, thinly sliced into moons
4 fresh thyme sprigs
2 bay leaves
2 garlic cloves, thinkly sliced
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 tsp yellow mustard seeds
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
4 large canned italian plum tomatoes, drained and chopped
3 pounds small delicata squash (i used dumpling squash i think)--scrubbed, halved, seeded and cut into slices
1 2 lb head of broccoli cut into florets
1 15 oz. can of chickpeas, drained
couscous

preheat oven to 325 degrees
heat tbsp olive oil in skillet. season lamb shanks with salt and pepper all over.
add three of shanks and cook over moderately high heat until browned all over, 10 minutes.
transfer to a large roasting pan or stew pot.
repeat with another tbsp olive oil and remaining shanks.
pour off skillet oil
add wine and boil for 1 minute, scraping up browned bits
pour wine into roasting pan with lamb shanks
add stock/celery/carrot/thyme/coarsely chopped onions/bay leaves
bring to boil over high heat
cover with foil and place in oven.
braise for 2.5 hours, until meat is very tender
remove foil, let cool slightly

make sofrito:
in medium skillet heat 2 tbsp olive oil
add garlic, finely chopped oinion, mustard seeds, and cumin seeds and cook over moderate heat until reduce to 2/3 cup
season with salt and pepper

increase oven temp to 400 degrees
on each of two rimmed baking sheets toss squash with olive oil, salt and pepper, and do same thing with broccoli
roast squash for 45 minutes, broccoli for 25 minutes
meanwhile tranfer lamb shanks to a work surface, strain braising liquid and skim off fat
add chickpeas/tomato sofrito/lamb shanks to braising liquid, cover and simmer for 8 minutes over low heat

cook couscous according to package (i made it with the large israeli couscous which is less absorbent and maybe therefore, not as good). add butter and salt (i used olive oil for my lactose intolerant laurie)

put couscous/lamb/roasted veggies in a bowl and drizzle cilantro pesto over the top (see below)

cilantro pesto
1 cup cilantro leaves, cleaned
1 cup flat leaf parsley, cleaned
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 knob ginger, peeled and chopped
1/2 jalapeno, seeded and chopped
1/2 cup vegetable oil
salt

place all ingredients in blender

wien

for my 10th birthday, which i spent at my great aunt's house in suburban london, i was served a homemade sachertorte with candles in it. it was so unlike the creamy, fluffy birthday cakes i had at home, i was mesmerized. hidden between these dense chocolate layers was the faintest hint of raspberry jam. the chocolate frosting was not the thick buttery american kind; it was thin and shiny and delicate.

my great aunt annie was an austrian jew who, like her brother (my grandfather) fled vienna when the nazis came to town. the food i enjoyed that entire week in her home was thick and rich: goulash and spaetzle, and my beloved sachertorte. i have held a place in my heart for this food ever since. i went to prague and vienna as a 20 year old and gorged myself on wiener schnitzel and bread dumplings and goulash. this was my ancestral homeland, and this food my ancestral food.

yesterday my mom and i went to the neue gallery to take in some egon schiele, but stopped in at cafe sabarsky before we looked at the art. cafe sabarsky is charmingly old world, and completely austrian in feel, much in the same way as thomas beisl is, across from BAM. in an effort to stay close to my roots, we ordered a "sausage salad" and smoked trout crepes. i also had a terrific cafe latte. the sausage salad was terrifying to look at. it appeared to be long flat strips of spam, tossed with cheese, greens, sliced radishes, slivered red bell peppers and vinaigrette. it was actually delicious, and not even that heavy. mom was not a fan of her trout crepes. they were delicate and crunchy, more like egg rolls than the soft french-like crepes i pictured.

the desserts were behind us, laid out on a marble shelf, and looking preposterously good. next time, i will definitely partake of sachertorte and viennese hot chocolate, and bring myself back in time to aunt annie's house .

easy as pie, but it's a cookie

per cjr's request, a new recipe.

with the holidays comes a desire to produce mass amounts of sugary buttery crap and eat most of it myself, but give some of it away. if only i had 76 grandchildren, there would be enough mouths to finish all that i crave to make. i showed some restraint, i did, and made only a few things, including a batch of almond biscotti, all of which i gave away as gifts. ok, i ate one piece, but just to make sure it wasn't poisoned (it wasn't).

biscotti are terrifically easy to make. and many versions do not even contain any butter or oil. in fact, i recall watching
"the view" once (kudos to you if you cannot say that phrase), and the ladies saying that a person could lose 900 pounds if she switched her daily snack from a venti caramel macchiato and a scone to a frappucino and a biscotti. it's, apparently, practically like eating a carrot.

biscotti de prato

("classical italian dunking cookie")

3/4 cups whole almonds
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp almond extract
2 cups flour
7/8 cup sugar
1 tsp baking soda
dash of salt

heat oven to 350
place nuts in a shallow baking dish and toast in the oven for 8-10 minutes
in a small bowl beat eggs, vanilla and almond extract with a wire whisk.
in a mixing bowl combine flour, sugar, baking soda and salt.
add egg mixture until blended, about 1 minute.
cut nuts into halves and mix in.
divide dough in half.
on greased and floured baking sheet, pat dough into 2 logs 1.5 inches wide and 12 inches long.
space them at least 2 inches apart.
lower oven to 300 degrees and bake logs of dough for 50 minutes until golden brown.
transfer from baking sheet to rack, cool 5 minutes.
on a cutting board, cut with a serrated knife on a diagonal, about 1/2 inch thick.
lower oven to 275 degrees and lay slices flat on baking sheet and bake for 25 minutes,
turning over once to dry the other side.
store in a tightly covered container.
taste one to make sure it isn't poisoned.

'twas the week before christmas...

...and all through the strike.....

wait, that's not how it goes.

some highlights from strike week include: a ride from two strangers all the way to work, getting me there on time, which seemed impossible. also, 6-7 miles home that evening, on foot, concluding with sunset as i crossed over the bridge into brooklyn. a december sunset on a clear night over the lights of the waterfront is a beautiful sight.

the next day connie and i bundled up, and headed over the bridge together to the east village, where we shared wine and wassail (what's 'wassail' i wonder?) with brian and z. after finding the line too long at supper, we languished over a decadent meal at lucien. it was so satisfying that i began to wonder why THAT hadn't been my neighborhood spot all those years. we had raw oysters, lamb, salmon, creme brulee, an exquisite tarte tatin.....and due to the strike, barely even had to wait for a table.

i finished up the week before christmas with dinner last night at raoul's, which has somehow managed to maintain its old soho charm. despite the crushing corporate shopping invasion, raoul's still feels warm and cool and real. i had an excellent dish of cappellini with little neck clams and chorizo; it was dominated by the full-bodied richness of the chorizo and a touch of cream in the sauce, and i couldn't help but eat every last bite. all this while drinking wine and listening to stories of old soho, told my my dining companions who had staked out soho lofts in the 70s and paid $200/mo. we were, all of us, new yorkers born and raised, ranging in age from 30 to 60, having shared a downtown NYC life that exists no more.

having the usual?

it's very important to have a neighborhood spot. it is also important to have the staff there get to know you, and say things like "having the usual?" i have experience with forging a neighborhood spot, but have never gotten as far as having them know me. my addiction to to the anonymity of nyc has somehow prevented it, i suppose.

in my old neighborhood, my spot was supper. and i really did eat the same darn thing every time i went. in lieu of the waiter doing so, i would sit down and turn to my dining companion and say "having the usual?" which meant panzanella and grilled vegetables and cacio e pepe.

only two and a half months into my brooklyn life, i have declared my neighborhood spot to be cafe luluc on smith street. have had several brunches there, and will say those are the best french fries i can remember in a while. last night i added dinner to the repertoire. our table had beet salad, mussels, pork chop, steak frite, moroccan lamb, creme brulee, chocolate cake, and hot damn! every single thing was delicious. and not very expensive. and did i mention they made me a really good vodka martini?

knife skills

"chop," i just found out, is a bad word. better words are "slice," "dice," "carve." as a writing teacher, i know this, that specificity is key. last saturday e and a and i attended a beginning level knife skills class at ICE. three hours long, and taught with dynamic old-school efficiency by norman weinstein, the class teaches its students, first and foremost, not to chop. the loud crash of a knife to a cutting board does not occur when the knife is handled properly. nor does the chef get a sore arm or shoulder. the blade glides effortlessly.

we learned to hold our knives properly, how to dice onions, slice carrots, core tomatoes, slice bagels (not fingers), mince herbs, chiffonade basil, and "use the steel." i learned that i've been doing pretty much everything wrong, and i am excited and determined to get better through practice. there's still knife skills 2 and 3 to take (in 3 you learn how to make cool garnishes), and i am definitely tempted.

$85 for a jam-packed 3 hours. institute for culinary education, formerly peter kump's cooking school.

leftovers sandwich

one of the first dinner parties i ever hosted was with mara, in the june of 1996. we had graduated from college only days before, and were still high on the fumes of celebration, accomplishment, and comraderie (just around the corner were reality, confusion and, well, ohio, but that's another story). we hosted a small dinner at her parents' comfortable and lovely house in massachusetts and carefully planned a menu of north african carrot soup and lamb salad with cornichons. knowing mara, she also made an elaborate and delicious dessert but i cannot remember it now. we shopped at a local market, picking only the finest ingredients and purchasing a container of the at-the-time-unknown-to-me creme fraiche. it felt very adult. and yet i imagine we used our parents' credit cards.

the dinner party was a success--we set a formal table, and we topped off the meal with a moonlit walk, all 8 or so of us getting lost a few miles away and accepting a hilariously overpacked ride home from a neighbor. the next day, for lunch, we ate leftover lamb salad wrapped in flour tortillas and i discovered the beauty of a "leftovers sandwich."
1) the flavors have had time to marinate and deepen.
2) almost anything, put on a sandwich, is a good idea.
3) with that sandwich come the memories of the first eating, so that the day after our successful and exhilarating party, we got to experience the evening all over again.

the traditional leftovers sandwich, of course, is the day-after-thanksgiving sandwich. my favorite was last year's: a crusty ciabatta roll, a whole-grain mustard, turkey slices, cranberry sauce, and mashed sweet potatoes, eaten perched on a high stool near a roaring fire. if you haven't already done so, make yourself one, before your leftovers go bad--or run out.

good gravy

the organic turkey was delicious. there was a humorus episode in which i unwrapped it and decided it smelled funky, mom ran to the the neighbor, who speaks very little english, neighbor thought we were asking her to prepare the turkey for us, and gamely began rinsing it, poking it, etc. we finally conveyed our concerns about smell at which point she nodded, patted the turkey, and exclaimed brightly: "it's natural!" which indeed it was.

my guide that day was a stack of "cook's illustrated" magazines. i had a subscription for about two years and only used it once or twice. decided i would go through every single one and find some gems. i made a cook's illustrated gravy, from scratch, which was certainly the most professional gravy i have ever made (samuel and i gleefully swapped gravy stories the next day; only once you've done it do you know this feeling of pride). i made smashed potatoes , for which the secret ingredient was cream cheese. i made baked acorn squash with brown sugar glaze, for which the secret ingredient was the microwave. cornbread mushroom stuffing came courtesy of martha stewart, my favorite jailbird/celebrity homemaker.

wendy carved the turkey for me, like she always does. mom made her always good cranberry sauce and excellent mushroom barley soup, joan made terrific walnut string beans, and we had more pies than we knew what to do with.

i am still having issues with how to get everything the right temperature at these shindigs, but if i am lucky, i'll have a lifetime to get it right.

giving thanks

thanksgiving has come at just the right time. see, i have not been feeling very thankful. in truth, the phrase: "how come everything i touch turns to shit?" actually went through my brain the other day. i realized, even in the moment, that this was a nadir.

so, in an effort to remind myself of all the things i have to be thankful for, a list. 26 items, one for each letter of the alphabet.

A is for apples from the farmers market.

B is for buddy, my dog-cat.

C is for cobble hill. quiet and beautiful, my new lovely home.

D is for "the dying gaul," a movie that amazed me. deeply beautiful and deeply flawed.

E is for ethan, my brother.

F is for my friends, who are top-notch.

G is for gastronomy, which brings me joy (see "J").

H is for hot chocolate.

I is for the island of manhattan, which though i have left it, i still love.

J is for joy, when and where i find it, which is more often than i realize or acknowledge.

K is for klemperer, jerusha. will try to be thankful that i am me.

L is for laurie, for her life advice and listening (that's several L's)

M is for the middle eastern market, sahadis, my neighborhood market.

N is for new technology, such as my new ipod, new ibook, new silicon baking tins.

O is for opportunity, which even though i am having trouble seeing it, i know is out there (kinda like the tooth fairy...).

P is for pretzel croissants from city bakery.

Q is for quiche, which i love to make, and love to eat.

R is for running, which i can do now, despite my belief a few years ago that my knee would never heal well enough for it.

S is for seymour, my lap cat.

T is for the organic free-range turkey that we will enjoy on thursday. this is me putting my money where my mouth is.

U is for upheaval, in a good way.

V is for deborah madison's "vegetarian cooking for everyone," a terrific staple of my cookbook library.

W is for wine. wit. words.

X is for expression, the gift of which i do possess and must remember to use.

Y is for yoga, and what it does for my body.

Z is for sleep, which is easy, quiet and plentiful in my new home.

home cooking

in one short day, i loved someone and lost her. my old boss and I were chatting by our desks one day a few years ago, when the conversation came around to food (this happens a lot with me).

"you know who you'd love?" she asked, "laurie colwin."

she lent me her copy of a slim paperback called "home cooking." colwin's writing reminded me of emails from mara, of short stories by lorrie moore, of the musings of a good friend i never knew i had. she does not write about restaurants or caviar or filet mignon. as the title suggests, every meal takes place in the small kitchen of her first, starter, NYC apartment. she argues against fancy kitchen gadgets and for dishes that remind one of childhood. she is witty, humble and knowledgeable.

i google searched my new best friend, excited to learn about her other books and her life today. perhaps some part of me hoped i'd end up in her kitchen making bread with her, cracking silly jokes and getting flour in our hair. i was devastated to discover that she had died young, several years earlier, leaving behind a husband and a small child. mourning my loss, i devoured "more home cooking," a collection which was published after her death.

two nights ago i made a supper for myself that included "squash tian," a colwin "recipe" that actually just reads like a paragraph. it has become an old favorite of mine and is perfect in the fall when the butternut squash is at its best. it is absolutely simple and terrifically delicious. vintage colwin, you might say.

squash tian

for squash tian, proportions aren't the issue, method is; but for 4 people you probably need about 2 big butternuts, or 4 of the sweeter medium-sized delicatas. peel, seed, and cut the squash into 1-inch chunks. shake the chunks in a bag of flour, shaking off the excess flour, and put them into an oiled or buttered shallow baking dish. scatter the squash with about 1/4 cup good parmesan; 1 large garlic clove, minced; and pepper to taste. drizzle the tian with about 1/4 to 1/3 cup best olive oil and put into a preheated 400 degree oven. the oven must be really hot, or instead of a crispy topped, melting dish, you will end up with a sodden mess-- trust me, i have had this happen. bake the tian for 30-40 minutes. i myself would be very happy to eat this with salad, but as we do not necessarily live by vegetables alone, something else must be provided...

what's up with organics?

i try to buy organic dairy. it's widely available, and therefore requires no extra effort, only slightly more money. organic veggies are harder to come by, and organic meat, unless you're cooking for yourself, is pretty hard to procure. i feel strongly about eating organic, and yet my daily practice is less than stellar. it's similar to the distance between my attitude and my practice on the issue of vegetarianism. i have been known not to practice what i preach (along those lines: while waiting for my indian takeout tonight, i picked up a tatterred old issue of "real simple," april 2005 and read a great piece by jonathan safran foer about his ever-changing relationship to food, vegetarianism, and identity. it reminded me of my own feelings, and was beautifully written).

the usda recently passed some new guidelines on the definitions of what is technically to be considered organic, only to have it overturned immediately by the organic trade association. there's been lots of resulting buzz about organic food in the media lately, and i have felt the need to become more informed.

last weekend i attended a baum forum event called "what's up with organics?" i attended an earlier symposium of theirs, last winter, on susatinable agriculture. hilary baum routinely gathers those people who are at the heart of these issues and creates panels that, in their diversity, look at issue from many sides. she includes scientists, farmers, administrators, educators, and business people.

i learned an incredible amount this past weekend. rather than boring you with details i will give you a few highlights:

1. the pesticides found in conventional foods present "unknown health risks." whereas this is slightly more heartening than hearing that they are directly connected to cancer, the word "unknown" is scary to me. and just because something has not ben proven yet, does not mean that the results found someday will not be terrifyingly huge and profound.

2. if given the choice, buy organic valley instead of horizon. horizon, like many other organic brands, is owned by giant agribusiness company dean foods. organic valley is an independently owned farmers' coop.

3. along the same vein: boca is owned by kraft, odwalla is owned by coca cola, stonyfield by danone, kashi by morningstar, etc etc etc. this was a real eye-opener for me.

4. many farmers are angered by the usda's regualtion of organics, and are repelled by the notion that you could call something "organic" and still have 5% synthetics in it. as a result, some farmers have rejected the term organic entirely.

i could go on and on. and i plan to. not go on ranting to you, but go on educating myself, and furthering my commitments, and lessening the gap between what i believe and say, and what i do.

p.s. i bought a mac. and now the settings on here are all screwy. hence the cessation of uniform type, color, style etc.

je suis so french

picking a place on the globe and fashioning an entire dinner as though eating there, is a favorite planning technique of mine. i am not proficient enough at any particular kind of cuisine to stick with one geographical locale. and so was born: mexican night. greek night. you get the picture.

yesterday, monday night was brasserie night, pour ma maman et mon frere. on le menu were lentil salad with lardons and fried egg, onion soup, brie/sausage and bread, and steamed asparagus. the lentil salad is from gourmet magazine apparently, though i found it on epicurious,

3/4 cup lentils (the small green kind, called "french lentils")
6 oz. thick cut bacon, cut crosswise into 1/4 inch strips
(i used regular thin cut bacon and it was perfectly good, but lacked that vrai lardon quality)
2 leeks, white and pale green parts only, finely chopped
2 celery ribs, finely chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp fresh chopped tarragon
1 tbsp olive oile
eggs
(if your dinner is like mine, some people will want eggs, some will not. make one egg per person, for those who want)

cover lentils with cold water by 2 inches in a sauce pan. simmer, uncovered until just tender, about 20 minutes.

blanch asparagus in boiling water for about three minutes, until bright green, then shock with an ice bath

while lentils are simmering, cook the bacon in a skillet, and try not to burn yourself with flying bacon grease. once bacon is crisp, fish it out and drain on paper towels, leaving the grease in the pan.

add the leeks, carrots and celery and cook until just tender. add the red wine vinegar and cook until most of it evaporates. remove from skillet and add tarragon, half of the bacon, salt and pepper to taste. transfer to a bowl and keep warm and covered. don't clean the skillet; there is still bacon-y goodness there to exploit.

drain lentils and mix with veggies.

add a drop of oil to the skillet and fry up however many eggs you'll need, over easy.

put a blob of lentil salad, covered with an egg, with asparagus spears on the side.

put on a beret, pop in the "best of edith piaf," giggle to yourself over the brilliance of monsieur jerry lewis, and dig in!

indecision

when plagued by indecision, even picking what to eat can be paralyzing. my advice is to choose something simple. and add butter.

a long time ago i wrote down a julia child recipe on a scrap of paper. it's for a dish called "potage parmentier," and the other night i made it for julie (along with roasted brussel sprouts and a gigantic steak). i added turnips to julia's recipe, but it was similar in outcome, i am sure. it's just that the farmer's market had turnips and it felt right to buy them. when else?

now i have a giant bowl and every night when i come home and fret about small meaningless decisions (about computer purchase and travel plans), i can just pop some potage parmentier into the microwave, and no choice need be made.

potage parmentier

2 cups potatoes, peeled and diced
3 turnips, peeled and diced
3 leeks, white and light green parts, cut into chunks
2 quarts water (in truth i myself have no way of measuring a quart)
1 tsp salt
several knobs butter

put the potatoes, turnips, leeks, salt and water in a pot on the stove
cover, bring to a boil and simmer for 45 minutes
about 25 minutes into this process, remove the cover
once finished, mash with a fork and stir in the butter
add more salt and pepper to taste

this makes a whole lot, certainly enough for 5 or 6 people.

liking it the first time

things i didn't like the very first time i tried them:

coffee
sushi
tofu
spicy mustard
gefilte fish
olives

if i hadn't tried these things again, i would have missed out. now i love the warm comfort of a cup of joe, crave the tangy zip of mustard on almost anything, and unabashedly look forward to the seder every year so i can wolf down a processed whitefish ball slathered in red horseradish.

what about people? i have dear friends in my life i didn't like the whole first year i knew them! but what about a fella on a date? if i don't like him the first time, is that a good indication, or do i need to keep trying? could he become my mustard? my bowl of assorted french cocktail olives?

cranachan or: first supper

i chose my new apartment for its kitchen, so it was my great delight to host my first supper. in looking for recipes to use for this meal, i encountered one for the aforementioned "cranachan." this seemed like a perfect choice, both because i had tasted it recently on its home turf, and because the folks coming over were all recent visitors to edinburgh. it turns out it's a mess of cream, sugar, rum, and granola. i would have thought it was whisky, but i guess, occasionally, the scots veer away from beer and whisky and hit the rum.

we had ravioli with a butter/sage/walnut sauce, a salad with roasted pears, blue cheese and cranberry vinaigrette, several bottles of argentinian red, cookies, and the ol' scottish classic: cranachan. it is incredibly rich. chris declared that "it tastes like breakfast--in switzerland!"

my apartment is large enough for guests. the counter space is ample; cooking was a cinch. my cats are social butterflies. i used my grandmother's vintage tablecoth. we drank adam's grandfather's whisky. the DISHWASHER made cleanup easy. so, about the new apartment, i'd have to say: so far so good.

cranachan

2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup granola
pinch salt
2 tbsp melted butter
2 peaches, diced
1 cup chopped dates
1 cup blueberries
2 tbsp rum
1/2 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped

mix granola, nuts and salt
pour onto a rimmed cookie sheet
cover with melted butter and bake in a 350 degree oven for 8-10 minutes
whip the cream until soft peaks form
fold in sugar
fold in rum
fold in cooled granola mixture
fold in all fruit
cover with saran and chill for 1 hour or more

scotland, in a nutshell

what i love about food in nyc is that you don't need to spend a lot of money to get a great meal. the $2 pakistani food at the punjabi grocery on houston is decidedly good, as are the $5 arepas at caracas on 7th street. if you mention to people the bad food in scotland, they will likely give you a response that mentions how much british food has improved, and also that there is a michelin 4 star restaurant (martin wishart). but to eat at this place, one must be a millionaire. scotland has not yet had a food revoultion for the people.

i myself was in edinburgh on a very tight budget (thanks to the poorly-performing US dollar, you rat bastard), and i had a hard time eating well. i ate a lot of potatoes. and a lot of cheese. there were however, some highlights. though be aware that some things on this list are not here for the culinary excellence.

1) snug scottish bistro. here i spent my 31st birthday. a wee dram of a place, snuggled in the basement floor of a stockbridge townhouse. the proprietor is a delight--friendly and kind and totally invested in his restaurant. it is BYO and quite casual. if the dollar weren't so bad, it would be very reasonably priced. i dined with emily, my new friend. i had venison, she had chicken stuffed with haggis (surprisingly--YUM!). both were expertly prepared and we also really liked our oddball scottish dessert called "cranachan." we finished up, tipsy and sated, and headed off to see david o'doherty, a charming and understated irish comic.

2) piemaker. a fast food joint of sorts, selling basically single serving chicken pot pies. but with many different options for filling (chicken tikka anyone?). at one pound fifty a pop, hard to resist. not to mention that flaky crust.

3) cheese. the brits know their cheddar. the cheese aisle at the supermarket practically consists of nothing but. not to be missed: an extra sharp white cheddar sandwich with onion pickle (basically chutney). I found a pickle at crombie's of edinburgh, a gourmet sausage place on broughton road, that i'm very fond of. of which i'm fond. crap.

4) valvonna and crolla. i found the gourmet food shop! this small italian specialty food store would be nothing special in food-obsessed nyc, but in edinburgh it is a rare treasure. sundried tomatoes packed in olive oil, fresh pasta, prosciutto, and a gourmet cheese counter. i bought a "sourdough" bread, which was certainly the best and crustiest bread i had all month, but ch-rist people! you should be able to break your teeth on the crust of a good sourdough. i also bought a scone--the best one i had in scotland; i could taste the cream. and an english cheese called "cairphilly," which i thought to be a ridiculously fun name. i made open faced sandwiches of this cheese, on the sourdough bread, with caramelized onion pickle. yesssssss.

5) clarinda's tea room. the first friday we arrived, eric led us at sunrise for a crisp morning hike up arthur's seat. it was virtually empty and there were clear views of edinburgh for miles. delirious with lack of sleep, it was an oddly grounding experience, a great way to start off the month. after our descent, we hit this small grandma-style tea room, replete with doily tablecloths, and antique china on the walls. at the time i had no way of knowing that this place is indeed special, that the food is notable, etc. after trying other places over the course of the month and returning to clarinda's several times, i understood. the tea is delicious, the scones are great, the scottish breakfast is a greasy delight. the service is gruff and perfunctory, at odds with the gentle sweet decor. this, too, i came to love.

6) fried fried fried. they have these shops where there is a glass case at the front, with heat lamps, and piles of every food known to man--all of it DEEP FRIED. fish, sure, but also hamburger patties, haggis, sausages, mars bars. late at night, drunken folks crowd these places and order up heaping portions of all things fried. it is one of the most astonishingly gross things i have ever seen. miraculously, americans continue to be the fattest creatures on earth.

it was interesting for me, though, to be in a place in which there were few culinary marvels for me to behold. it helped me ease off of my obsession, and freed up my extra dough for unceasing theater attendance.