You know when a craving just materializes in your head and you can’t think of anything else until you get it? Ok, some people call it “addiction,” but I’ll just refer to it as “a hankering.” For me, it’s usually lemon meringue pie, but this time it was waffles. Days later I still hadn’t gotten myself to a diner, but I mentioned the word waffles to Byron and he volunteered to host Happy Waffle Day. Oh what a lucky girl am I. He makes them with bananas mixed into the batter and Lili makes sure there is real maple syrup from a nearby sugar house, and raisins and cranberries and walnuts local kielbasa close at hand.
After this, one cannot do anything but take on the world. Or sit on a bus for 5 hours; whichever comes first.
We’d heard this old school Italian joint was closing for good, so we scrambled on over to Gino’s. I’d first seen the place when I was passing by years ago, lured in by the magnificent zebra wallpaper.
Intensely red, which helps diffuse the horrible fluorescent lighting. The average age of the clientele is about 97, but they all seemed perky. The scent of garlic permeated every part of the room and the bartender looked as if he could shake a mean martini. My suspicious were confirmed. The martini was cold, dry and abundant. I started with sardines.
They weren’t the fresh silvery kind I was hoping for, but they were still big and firm and not too fishy. My veal marsala was delightful.
That’s fried mashed potato at the top, disguised as a bed roll. The veal is cooked with just the right amount of sage, al dente ’shrooms and, glory be: peas! Where do you ever get real peas that aren’t drowning in lavender honey or mashed and sculpted into little bear shapes? These were just plain peas like mom used to defrost. For dessert we split a slice of cheesecake that was so good we split another slice of cheesecake.
It wasn’t the usual wall o’cream cheese, but a light, textured, almost savory dessert treat. Limoncello all around and then a nice, long zebra nap. I do hope they can work everything out and remain open. It’s so rare that the Sinatra/Dino/Corleone places have food that tastes as good as the wallpaper.
One of the best things about New York City is that you can see the Metropolitan Opera on a whim--for $20. And what does one eat in preparation for a 3-hour Verdi extravaganza? Why, oysters and martinis, of course. Oysters Rockefeller are for people who don’t really like oysters: they’re cooked and covered in spinach and cream and some other stuff to make you forget you’re eating bivalves.
I’m a fan of the bivalve, so I like ’em any way I can get ’em, and they make them pretty well at P.J. Clarke's. A clean, cold martini will get you through the second act.
After that, you’re on your own.
To help the Vikings win the NFC championship, Steve made a big pot of chili.
He puts cinnamon and chocolate in his chili, which makes it extra good. Sometimes he pours it over spaghetti, but that’s Cincinnati chili and we were watching the Minnesota team, so we just added cheese on top. Tragically, the chili did not lead the Vikings to victory. It was a success, nonetheless. For dessert we had sadness and despair.
In the back room of The Richardson, a French teacher had a galette party. A prize is hidden within the pastry, and the person who finds it gets to be king or queen. This seems like a dental crisis waiting to happen, so I chewed carefully. Fortunately, I found the prize right away and I could gobble the rest of the cake without fear of choking.
The specialty rum cocktail from the bar was probably not the best choice for accompaniment, but it was potent.
And then there’s homemade lasagna. Rich, garlicky, substantial, big big big like a hug from your Italian grandma. Which Alix is not, but she cooks like she is. Homemade lasagna goes well with big red wine followed by seven hours of cardio.
Japanese comfort food is just perfect for a cold winter night. It’s substantial, tasty, and relatively guilt-free. I’d never pondered how miso soup was made, but Thessa has been investigating this for quite some time and has perfected the method. Her soup is flavorful and hearty and made from scratch! Jeroen made scallops with a multi-faceted sauce that one would not expect in Japanese cuisine. It featured mirin and mustard and lots of other ingredients that begin with the letter M.
All of this covered fresh scallops that were reclining on a bed of fresh baby spinach. Rice on the side, of course. Dessert of green tea ice cream with asian pears proved to be a bright and perfect topper.
When I’m not eating somewhere in NYC or the World, I must make due at home. This year, my brother facilitated my nourishment by sending six cans of Rosarita refried beans to my house.
You can’t get these on the East Coast. My sister-in-law was skeptical about this gift, but my brother explained that, to me, these beans are like gold. They taste nothing like authentic Mexican refried beans. No, instead they taste like childhood wrapped in a tortilla. I need not leave the house until spring.
So we went on a Big Adventure, all the way out to the wilds of Queens. There we found an unassuming little place that looks like it broke away from a strip mall and was making a go of it, bravely alone. Inside was equally unadorned, bright and ugly. The food, however, made up for all that the ambiance lacked. Big family style Italian dishes were delivered by waiters who seemed barely capable of carrying the burden. Wise guys in the corner, a birthday party for nonna at the next table, children scurrying about. We started with roasted red peppers and onions.
Super simple, but full of pepper power. Then the best linguini with clam sauce ever.
I’m not sure those were even clams. They did not resemble the chewy, undigestible bits one often finds swimming in the noodle pool. No, instead each clammy jewel was soft and garlicky enough to maim all vampires in the tri-state area. Main courses: fried veal under a blanket of fresh chopped tomatoes and onions
and something called Chicken Chinese which was as flavorful as it was oddly named, for there was nothing Chinese about it.
All of this was washed down with the house red, which was chilled and dreadful. Dessert was a perfect tartufo globe
and a lemon sorbet that was vibrant enough to wake the dead.
Thursday was the annual Reading of the Tarot Cards. And what goes better with fortune telling than shrimp with garlic, squished yams with honey and lime and, well, more green beans?
Alas, the outlook for the year is merely so-so. I suspect I will be well-fed, however.
Jennie took pity on me and made some chicken with a tangy balsamic sauce.
It fell off the bone and was tender and delicious. She threw in some rice pilaf and fresh green beans because she likes us.
So my new diet plan is to never leave the house. There’s no food here, except for the beer and mustard in the fridge. I got a little peckish, however, and found myself foraging for food. Found a potato under the sink. Microwaved it. So now my diet is that of a nineteenth century Irish peasant. With a microwave.
By midnight I was hungry again and that diet seemed like a dreadful myth. We stopped in at Sputino (which is the tapas bar at Pescatore) for some bruschetta and prosecco.
The bruschetta is one of the few bargains in the neighborhood and they have a nice wine list, too.
A dark and cozy spot on the Upper West Side, Shalel has nooks and corners that encourage conversation and probably other things that make me want to wash my hands. We sat by the indoor brook, which is quaint if you don't think too hard about where the water originates. We ate a cinnamony chicken stew, perfect for a cold evening,
and a plate of pita with hummus and baba ganoush.
And, since I’ve established a new relationship with lamb, I’ve been devouring it with impunity. Here it is in meat ball form on flat bread.
Like so many others, I have vowed health and happiness in the new year, starting with this squash, beet and goat cheese salad from Le Pain Quotidien.
Alas, it was mostly radicchio, which was tough and bitter and tasted like purple mulch. Fortunately, there is chocolate spread on each table, which goes well slathered on French bread. So that diet lasted about 11 minutes.
For New Year’s Eve, Amy made three kinds of fondue: cheese, sirloin and chocolate. It’s an an excellent party food, since it brings guests together in a common gluttonous pursuit and it’s damn good soak. But, since it was New Year’s Eve, I wasn’t quite on top of the photo documentation; by the time I crawled off the couch the next afternoon, all that was left was this lone marshmallow, which somehow escaped to the bathroom sink and remains perched there still.
This is the worst taco I have ever eaten. There are only 3 ingredients in an avocado taco. How can anyone possibly mess that up?
So after cooking for three days, Amy decided to make short ribs for 17 invited guests. She is obviously insane. First she seared the ribs and we all coughed and noticed that there are no smoke detectors in this house.
They were braised and tender and succulent. Then she made artichokes and a salad with spinach and onions and pomegranate.
Fresh and delightful and relatively healthy. There was pie for dessert and a beautifully atonal rendition of Happy Birthday.
Amy had been cooking for 3 days straight, invoking the ghost of Frida Khalo. I don’t know if Frida was a good cook (though Diego was obviously getting his nutritional content from somewhere), but Amy sure is. We got up Christmas morning and started making tamales. I had heard tales of Mexican women in a jolly tamale production line, chatting and laughing while they prepare the Christmas feast. I am here to debunk that myth. After about an hour of soaking corn husks, mixing masa, filling tamales and tying them up in neat little pouches, I was bored out of my mind. So we drank tequila. The corn husk ties got a little messier, the filling got sloppier and the tamales expanded to the size of footballs as the bottom of the masa bowl became visible. Here’s what we ate:
POSADA MENU
Chips and Salsa (of course)
Huitlacoche Soup
Ensalada de Nopales
Frida Kahlo's Christmas Salad
Cheese Enchiladas con Mole Verde
Tamales de Hongos Mushroom and Poblano Tamales
Tamales de Puerco con Chili Rojo
Chilaquiles con Pollo (Verde)
Chilaquiles (Rojo)
Frojoles Estilo Yucateca
Arroz (Verde y Rojo)
Corn Tortillas
Mexican Wedding Cookies
Mexican Chocolate Cake
Mexican Hot Chocolate
Horchata
Cerveza
Tequila
Every dish was perfect and amazing because it was made with Amy love and corn fungus. After dinner I called my aunt and told her of my tamale-making adventures. She told me the only way to endure the tedium was to drink tequila. HAH!
The cutest little homey place in Northampton, Circa goes far beyond mom’s cooking. Flavors are sophisticated and they make everything look really pretty. I started with the winter greens with goat rising triple creme, pomegranate and hazelnuts.
Unfortunately I forgot that I dislike hazelnuts intensely and the winter greens were frisee and watercress, which is like eating tiny antlers. It looked appropriately festive, though. My main course was crisp duck leg confit with white bean cassoulet and cornichons.
Duck was crisp on the outside and tender on the inside, accompanied by a little pot of cassoulet that was France in a bowl. For dessert we snarfed an egg nog creme brulee reminiscent of a wondrous childhood memory that no one could quite pinpoint.
Then we went home to wait for Santa to arrive.
What to do with a wicked wine hangover? Croque Madame at Brasserie Maison, of course. Because the only thing better than a ham sandwich is a ham sandwich dipped in batter and fried, with an egg on it.
I got it with a girly salad because I ate about 9000 calories the night before. Yeah, like that’s gonna help.
So guess who was lucky enough to attend dinner at the James Beard house on her birthday? That’s right. MEEEE. And it was mighty amazing. The chef from Girl & the Goat, Stephanie Izard, flew in from Chicago and prepared something truly stunning. It was my first visit to the hallowed place: it is beautiful and warm and West Village-y. James Beard used to live there, and much is made of the unenclosed shower that overlooks the courtyard The mirrored bathroom is also a highlight. What used to be Mr. Beard's bedroom with the mirrored ceiling is now part of the dining area. The place was all done up for Christmas and it sparkled all over.
The evening’s chef is the only woman to have won Top Chef. I’ve never seen the show, but apparently it’s a big deal, especially among this crowd. There were three hors d’oeuvres: Foie Gras Torchon with Kumquats; Broiled Oysters with Horseradish Aïoli and Pancetta; and Nantucket Bay Scallops with Acorn Squash and Brown Butter. These were served downstairs in the little room beyond the kitchen. Getting to them was a contact sport. Some guests positioned themselves just outside the kitchen so they could pounce as soon as they appeared. There was a nice man pouring a lot of good champagne and I got to drink as much as I wanted, which was a lot. It was Paul Goerg Premier Cru Blanc de Blancs NV, in case you were wondering. After awhile it got really crowded and everyone went upstairs to the dining room. First course: Sweet Onion Soup with Florida Stone Crab. I’m pretty sure there was a lot more than onion in there. It was rich and creamy, probably because it was half cream. A dollop of crab was plopped down in the middle, and the stone crab claw was hanging out nearby, as if it could somehow claw its way into the bowl before I chomped it. It was served with The Scholium Project Farina Vineyards La Severità di Bruto 2008. Very dry and mineraly. After that came the Duck Fat–Poached Alaskan Halibut Cheeks with Duck Confit Ravioli, Honeycrisp Apples, and Apple Jus.
I didn’t even know that halibut had cheeks. I could have eaten just the jus in a bowl, but with the halibut and ravioli (really just one raviolo) it was a flavor extravaganza. It was served with The Scholium Project Bokisch Ranches Marcher Sur La Lune 2008. And then came the Pan-Roasted Triggerfish with Smoked Goat Ragoût and D’Anjou Pears.
The ragoût was just hanging out under the triggerfish, like I wasn’t going to notice it. Oh, but I did. It was like goat candy. Served with The Scholium Project Los Olivos Vineyard Choêphoroi 2008, which tasted like butter and oak and HOME. Next was the Roasted Lamb Medallions with Spiced Raisin Sauce and Niçoise Olives.
I have always hated lamb. But this wasn’t even lamb. It was something ethereal and light and not lamby at all. They were tiny little pink lamb bits that really changed my mind about the place of lamb in my future. Obviously, I’ve just never met the right lamb. It was paired with The Scholium Project Gardens of Babylon 2003. Alas, not my favorite, but I drank it right down anyway. For dessert or, rather, anti-dessert, there was cheese: Rogue Creamery Smokey Oregon Blue Cheese with Bacon-Glazed Apples and Marcona Almond Butter.
Mine had a candle in it because I’m special. It looked like a tiny scale model for an amusement park ride. And everyone got the Jorge Ordoñez & Co. Victoria No. 2 Moscatel: cold and sweet and tasting a little like Christmas morning.
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