> A cook who is paid $15 per hour at 40 hours per week earns an annual salary of $31,200, while a server earning minimum wage plus the San Francisco median rate of $30 per hour in tips brings home $81,411 per year.
http://tinyurl.com/yv57uf
How the hell is this sustainable? Isn't it counterproductive? The good news is that our food and restaurant customs are spreading like wildfire all over the country. (It's been called our national cuisine, for lack of anything better to call it, and also because that's what it is.)
If we can't swing the prices here, at least we'll be able to enjoy interesting things somewhere else.
11/10/07
Review: Be My Thai Guest
Frequent, er, subscribers to my food rants will remember the gist of this: Thai food is mostly the same ingredients tossed around in different sauces. It has some standouts -- pad Thai, tom kha -- except that everybody serves them the same way. The same could be said, patient friends argue, of pasta at trattorias.
But that grain of truth dissolves given the umbrella of regional styles and flavors in Italian cuisine. (You'd be challenged to find angel hair tossed with, say, a cream sauce.) Saucy Thai dishes in general are gooped up with rice. It doesn't seem to be the most interesting way to eat, and the venues by and large are staid and ugly. To this day I'm puzzled why chicks dig it.
That said, I have a favorite Thai place: the exciting Be My Guest Thai Bistro on Clement. What I think has happened in this case, based on a chat with an apparently senior staffer during my first visit, is that the next generation has come in and made its mark.
The room, first off, is modern with some Sleeper-white walls, furniture, linens and touches; soft, creative lighting; and an actual bar that can stocks beer on tap, a sensible wine list and house cocktails. There's a flat screen with some college game and the tunes are a little techno, but already this is a massive improvement from 95% of the Southeast Asian eateries out there.
As plates arrive, there'll be some variety to their sizes and shapes, and one in particular is oblong and asymmetrical and I love that. In a way it reminds me of what Paul Festa used to do at his place, with the tilting glasses and triangle plates, and that chandelier in the foyer is nothing but incandescents of various sizes.
Kristen's chicken special has traces of a roux from the dredged cuts (mostly thigh meat) of bird, and is tossed with julienned peppers, green onions and cashews. It's not saucy and it's delicious, and still we couldn't finish it. I had the egg noodle soup ($8.95) with roast duck, baby bok choy and wontons, and the broth triggered something.
At first I thought it was hot and sour, but I think it's a Thai soup base with fermented soy. I think. I've got my nose in the bowl, looking for mushrooms or some other component besides the duck braise that's imparting that musty, mysterious earthiness. There must have been a few other unspectacular soups before that have led me to this point. I'm looking forward to giving it another go.
Whether it's Italian, French or Thai, this what I like about bistros: resonant country cooking in a newfangled way.
But that grain of truth dissolves given the umbrella of regional styles and flavors in Italian cuisine. (You'd be challenged to find angel hair tossed with, say, a cream sauce.) Saucy Thai dishes in general are gooped up with rice. It doesn't seem to be the most interesting way to eat, and the venues by and large are staid and ugly. To this day I'm puzzled why chicks dig it.
That said, I have a favorite Thai place: the exciting Be My Guest Thai Bistro on Clement. What I think has happened in this case, based on a chat with an apparently senior staffer during my first visit, is that the next generation has come in and made its mark.
The room, first off, is modern with some Sleeper-white walls, furniture, linens and touches; soft, creative lighting; and an actual bar that can stocks beer on tap, a sensible wine list and house cocktails. There's a flat screen with some college game and the tunes are a little techno, but already this is a massive improvement from 95% of the Southeast Asian eateries out there.
As plates arrive, there'll be some variety to their sizes and shapes, and one in particular is oblong and asymmetrical and I love that. In a way it reminds me of what Paul Festa used to do at his place, with the tilting glasses and triangle plates, and that chandelier in the foyer is nothing but incandescents of various sizes.
Kristen's chicken special has traces of a roux from the dredged cuts (mostly thigh meat) of bird, and is tossed with julienned peppers, green onions and cashews. It's not saucy and it's delicious, and still we couldn't finish it. I had the egg noodle soup ($8.95) with roast duck, baby bok choy and wontons, and the broth triggered something.
At first I thought it was hot and sour, but I think it's a Thai soup base with fermented soy. I think. I've got my nose in the bowl, looking for mushrooms or some other component besides the duck braise that's imparting that musty, mysterious earthiness. There must have been a few other unspectacular soups before that have led me to this point. I'm looking forward to giving it another go.
Whether it's Italian, French or Thai, this what I like about bistros: resonant country cooking in a newfangled way.
11/5/07
Review: Lavash
Brand-new joint on Irving in the Inner Sunset: Lavash is next door to L'Avenida and is run by the same guy. Lavash is the food of his youth -- Persian kebabs and salads. We stopped by for lunch and could barely find room for the stroller, as the interior consists of only two tables, a counter and a grill against the far wall on which the staff cooks the kebabs: Chicken, lamb/beef, veggie and shrimp. We sampled everything but the shrimp and enjoyed them all. Nothing spectacular, but that's fine. It was well worth the reasonable prices: the $12 combo plate easily feeds two.
We also dipped into the small but excellent roster of time-honored sides: a raita-like yogurt, a chopped cucumber/tomato/onion salad, and my favorite, a large hunk of feta cheese served with walnuts and fresh herbs.
The owner chatted with us about cabbages and kings, all manner of things: the merits of Bulgarian vs. French feta, the delectable German bakery that was on 9th and Irving when he first came to the neighborhood more than two decades ago, the films of Iranian director Abbas Kurastami, and the pleasure of watching his teenagers reach 18 and suddenly decide they want the food, the language, the culture of their families after childhoods of uber-American immersion.
It's hard to make a tiny space feel hospitable -- the other Middle Eastern place down the street, Yumma's, certainly doesn't go out of its way to do so -- but Mr. L'Avenida Lavash has done it. He has even put out a bottle of wine and shot glasses for those who want a little adult beverage, gratis, with their meals or while they wait for their take-out.
We also dipped into the small but excellent roster of time-honored sides: a raita-like yogurt, a chopped cucumber/tomato/onion salad, and my favorite, a large hunk of feta cheese served with walnuts and fresh herbs.
The owner chatted with us about cabbages and kings, all manner of things: the merits of Bulgarian vs. French feta, the delectable German bakery that was on 9th and Irving when he first came to the neighborhood more than two decades ago, the films of Iranian director Abbas Kurastami, and the pleasure of watching his teenagers reach 18 and suddenly decide they want the food, the language, the culture of their families after childhoods of uber-American immersion.
It's hard to make a tiny space feel hospitable -- the other Middle Eastern place down the street, Yumma's, certainly doesn't go out of its way to do so -- but Mr. L'Avenida Lavash has done it. He has even put out a bottle of wine and shot glasses for those who want a little adult beverage, gratis, with their meals or while they wait for their take-out.
10/29/07
Faux Sonora-style Eggs
This is adapted from El Cholo's Sonoran-style plating. Eggs cooked any which way will do. The secret is in the stacking.
3 scrambled eggs with avocado, tomato and cheese or whatever
2 cups of cooked rice and black beans
chopped spinach
a couple of corn-wheat tortillas from TJ's
hot salsa
First I sautee a shallot in a little olive oil and butter, then make the eggs, throwing in cheese first and then the avocado and tomato once they set a bit.
Blacken the tortillas on the burner a bit, and then set on warmed plates. Spoon around some rice and beans on that base; sprinkle on chopped spinach (if you want to add sour cream, do that here), and then top with the eggs from pan.
Dress with some habanero-lime salsa from TJ's, and you're done. Permutations abound.
3 scrambled eggs with avocado, tomato and cheese or whatever
2 cups of cooked rice and black beans
chopped spinach
a couple of corn-wheat tortillas from TJ's
hot salsa
First I sautee a shallot in a little olive oil and butter, then make the eggs, throwing in cheese first and then the avocado and tomato once they set a bit.
Blacken the tortillas on the burner a bit, and then set on warmed plates. Spoon around some rice and beans on that base; sprinkle on chopped spinach (if you want to add sour cream, do that here), and then top with the eggs from pan.
Dress with some habanero-lime salsa from TJ's, and you're done. Permutations abound.
10/28/07
The Father of Invention
As most of you know, the Bistro Hugo has a new, very persnickety customer who insists that the kitchen stay open 24-7. In some ways she's not hard to please; as long it comes from a boob, she doesn't really care what she eats.
Any kitchen is delighted to have a patron who sits down and asks for "the usual," I guess, but how many cranky critics need their diapers changed between the appetizer and the main course? Michael Bauer, I'm looking at you.
The adult section of the Bistro has not completely shut down, of course (you thought otherwise?). We've had plenty of outside supplement, but worry not, we haven't gone completely frozen pizza and microwave Indian. (I hope soon to post the recipe for Uncle A-Ron's Spectacular Chili Bomb, secret ingredient: chick peas.) The trick is to take the odds and ends and come up with something that feels new enough to make a sleep deprived home chef feel worthy again, even for a brief moment.
We had a small piece of leftover lamb in the fridge the other night. I chopped it into rough bite-size pieces, trimmed some but not all the fat, and sauteed it in olive oil with half a shallot, a splash of red wine, and a can of cannellini beans (I recommend the small, firm S&W brand). We served it with its own juice over couscous, and with a small glass of red wine and a couple candles on the table, it was a brief respite from the 3-hour diaper-breastfeed-sleep cycle that our newest Hugonaut has established.
I love cannellini as what our friends at Chow call a "cheater" food: an easy pantry resource that embellishes all manner of dishes. I've tossed a can into soups, stews, pastas, and salads. As with all canned beans, it's better to give them a quick rinse under cold water before using. Note: The TJ's version are too big and get too mushy for my taste.
Any kitchen is delighted to have a patron who sits down and asks for "the usual," I guess, but how many cranky critics need their diapers changed between the appetizer and the main course? Michael Bauer, I'm looking at you. The adult section of the Bistro has not completely shut down, of course (you thought otherwise?). We've had plenty of outside supplement, but worry not, we haven't gone completely frozen pizza and microwave Indian. (I hope soon to post the recipe for Uncle A-Ron's Spectacular Chili Bomb, secret ingredient: chick peas.) The trick is to take the odds and ends and come up with something that feels new enough to make a sleep deprived home chef feel worthy again, even for a brief moment.
We had a small piece of leftover lamb in the fridge the other night. I chopped it into rough bite-size pieces, trimmed some but not all the fat, and sauteed it in olive oil with half a shallot, a splash of red wine, and a can of cannellini beans (I recommend the small, firm S&W brand). We served it with its own juice over couscous, and with a small glass of red wine and a couple candles on the table, it was a brief respite from the 3-hour diaper-breastfeed-sleep cycle that our newest Hugonaut has established.
I love cannellini as what our friends at Chow call a "cheater" food: an easy pantry resource that embellishes all manner of dishes. I've tossed a can into soups, stews, pastas, and salads. As with all canned beans, it's better to give them a quick rinse under cold water before using. Note: The TJ's version are too big and get too mushy for my taste.
10/22/07
And poof! There was Plouf
On a warm October night under clear skies, serendipity and a touch of glamour enveloped Belden Place, the all-restaurant alley that serves up European fare in a seamless indoor/outdoor culinary experience unlike any other in San Francisco. Business dinner at Plouf with the crew from work yielded an impressive light entree of opakapaka, which if I heard the waiter correctly is a type of butterfish. A delicate parsnip cream was nestled underneath, with a handful of crispy fried parsnips draped on top. Taste and portion size hit the spot. We paired dinner with a bottle of sauvignon blanc for the four of us. (Thanks, boss.)I was glad I didn't wuss out and get the ravioli. I'm not that adventurous when it comes to seafood, so very happy I didn't miss out on the butterfish dish's medley of flavors. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better my dessert choice had me practically licking the plate: Banana profiteroles! And none too syrupy to overpower the senses.
Wish we had a few more Belden Place-like alleys to choose from in these parts!
10/21/07
Poz-sole
Turns out that both spellings are acceptable for the hominy soup, posole or pozole. Here's what I made tonight, based on the recipe from the Santa Fe School of Cooking:
1-1/2 pounds posole, picked over and rinsed
Sofrito: lots of onions, peppers, garlic in a little vegetable oil
Small can of tomato sauce to finish the sofrito
1 quart of chicken stock
1 heaping tablespoon of Chimayo-style red chile powder,
of medium intensity
1/2 teaspoon coriander
Salt
A few cubes of frozen cilantro, from TJ's
Optional: 4 or 5 chicken-chorizo sausages, also from TJ's
This goes a little like the dried beans: Start with your posole in a big pot, cover with 3 inches of water, boil for two or three hours. Given that I started at 4 in the afternoon and wanted to eat by 7, I started the hominy off with some boiling water from the tea kettle. Basically you want to simmer this grain good, covered, till the kernels are soft and beginning to burst. You may need to pour in more water, or maybe not.
Separately, soften up on medium-high heat the onions and peppers. (I used one red and one pasilla. Also had some extra white zucchini just to get it out of the fridge, but this is unorthodox.) A little salt and ground pepper are good here, of course. Add the garlic, and once it's fragrant, stir in a small can of tomato sauce. You get these shorties for like 60 cents at Safeway and can help you out in many pinches, aside from making sofritos.
Once you've gotten this going for a while, turn off the pan's heat. Check your posole on the other burner; if they're OK or you're just impatient, combine the sofrito in the pot. Now it's time for the stock and spices: chile powder, coriander. Taste it 30 minutes later and then salt the soup. You should feel that sweet heat from the Chimayo chile, which is considered the finest in northern New Mexico.
You can let the soup reduce and thicken some more, or not, but just before you kill the heat pop in the cubes of frozen cilantro. One last stir and you're done. Remember to chew your grits.
Optional: Cut some chicken-chorizo sausages into rounds and throw them in to the hot broth before the cilantro. They'll cook through in a few minutes. Slices of boneless chicken breasts are fine as well, and cook even faster.
1-1/2 pounds posole, picked over and rinsed
Sofrito: lots of onions, peppers, garlic in a little vegetable oil
Small can of tomato sauce to finish the sofrito
1 quart of chicken stock
1 heaping tablespoon of Chimayo-style red chile powder,
of medium intensity
1/2 teaspoon coriander
Salt
A few cubes of frozen cilantro, from TJ's
Optional: 4 or 5 chicken-chorizo sausages, also from TJ's
This goes a little like the dried beans: Start with your posole in a big pot, cover with 3 inches of water, boil for two or three hours. Given that I started at 4 in the afternoon and wanted to eat by 7, I started the hominy off with some boiling water from the tea kettle. Basically you want to simmer this grain good, covered, till the kernels are soft and beginning to burst. You may need to pour in more water, or maybe not.
Separately, soften up on medium-high heat the onions and peppers. (I used one red and one pasilla. Also had some extra white zucchini just to get it out of the fridge, but this is unorthodox.) A little salt and ground pepper are good here, of course. Add the garlic, and once it's fragrant, stir in a small can of tomato sauce. You get these shorties for like 60 cents at Safeway and can help you out in many pinches, aside from making sofritos.
Once you've gotten this going for a while, turn off the pan's heat. Check your posole on the other burner; if they're OK or you're just impatient, combine the sofrito in the pot. Now it's time for the stock and spices: chile powder, coriander. Taste it 30 minutes later and then salt the soup. You should feel that sweet heat from the Chimayo chile, which is considered the finest in northern New Mexico.
You can let the soup reduce and thicken some more, or not, but just before you kill the heat pop in the cubes of frozen cilantro. One last stir and you're done. Remember to chew your grits.
Optional: Cut some chicken-chorizo sausages into rounds and throw them in to the hot broth before the cilantro. They'll cook through in a few minutes. Slices of boneless chicken breasts are fine as well, and cook even faster.
10/18/07
Review: Hotei
Neighborhood standbys are tough to gauge. You learn to love, or if not to love, to live with the shortcomings, and soon you're so grateful there's a place you can fall back on you haven't noticed there's a serious problem. When it becomes to much to ignore, you feel bad pointing it out, like you've aged a bit and finally noticed that your favorite kindly uncle has chronic halitosis.
I've always liked Hotei even while acknowledging their noodle broths were too salty. It's a place to get Ebisu sushi without waiting two hours at Ebisu, and they provide a large bowl of hot noodle soup -- soba readily substituted for udon -- for a moderate price.
But our dinner there the other night, a night on which we didn't want pizza or Thai or Vietnamese or brochettes at the new Bistro 9, reminded me of Mifune, the place in Japantown. In other words, slapdash food -- the veggie pot stickers were particularly bad -- indifferent service, a perfunctoriness that feels like burnout. And yes, the same overly salty broth.
Speaking of the neighborhood, my man Wilson at Yummy Yummy got a shout-out in the Chron's Bargain Bites. OK my friend!
I've always liked Hotei even while acknowledging their noodle broths were too salty. It's a place to get Ebisu sushi without waiting two hours at Ebisu, and they provide a large bowl of hot noodle soup -- soba readily substituted for udon -- for a moderate price.
But our dinner there the other night, a night on which we didn't want pizza or Thai or Vietnamese or brochettes at the new Bistro 9, reminded me of Mifune, the place in Japantown. In other words, slapdash food -- the veggie pot stickers were particularly bad -- indifferent service, a perfunctoriness that feels like burnout. And yes, the same overly salty broth.
Speaking of the neighborhood, my man Wilson at Yummy Yummy got a shout-out in the Chron's Bargain Bites. OK my friend!
10/17/07
Review: The Pizza Place on Noriega
As promised by The Fanch, Sunday night we staked out the latest neighborhood pizza spot with a bit of buzz, the Pizza Place on Noriega (yes, that's the full name).
The pies didn't match the heights of Pizzetta 211, still the banner holder of Fancy-Pies-in-the-Hood. To be fair, that's not what The PPoN is aiming for. Call it sophisticated dude-pizza, perhaps, with names of pies like "The Spicoli" and "Meat Head." No quail egg and lamb-mint sausage on the toppings list.
We had the Rotten Robby and built a second from the basic margherita, adding spinach and caramelized onions. It's thin crust, and the toppings are fresh and generous. But the crust left us disappointed. It was thin but not particularly crispy or toothsome, more a white-bread version of a thin crust. And a couple of the toppings didn't work; the pesto on the Robby was administered in blobs; catching one in a bite was too much pesto at once. On the other pie, the caramelized onions were too cloying for my tastes, and, like the pesto, unevenly spread. A more careful hand in the kitchen would do wonders. As fellow Bistrovian BrO never fails to remind: "Attention must be paid!"
We also ordered two apps, a large mixed salad and roasted cauliflower: Well done, nicely dressed, and generous portions both.
It's nearly at the beach, Noriega and 46th, and when we walked in much of the clientele were young adults with hoodies and cold-weather knit caps drinking draft beer at the bar: a fine apres-surf setting. The room is big, full of fun (often winkingly bad) art, and high-ceilinged. It's partitioned in two by a wall that allows the kitchen/bar and dining sides to feel each other's presence but blocks some of the bar noise from the eating area. Because of its high ceilings and, as I discovered half way through the meal, an open skylight, the room was also chilly, a bit of a turn-off for what's otherwise a friendly, funky joint.
Worth going back? At less than $20 a person (two of the four in our party had a glass of wine; no dessert), it was the right price, much more reasonable than what you'd pay at Pizzetta or Gialina. And I really liked the room, chill notwithstanding. (Next time, wear the ski cap!) With a few tweaks, or perhaps knowing the strengths of the menu, it would be worth another visit. Perhaps we can ask them to leave the crust in a bit longer.
The pies didn't match the heights of Pizzetta 211, still the banner holder of Fancy-Pies-in-the-Hood. To be fair, that's not what The PPoN is aiming for. Call it sophisticated dude-pizza, perhaps, with names of pies like "The Spicoli" and "Meat Head." No quail egg and lamb-mint sausage on the toppings list.
We had the Rotten Robby and built a second from the basic margherita, adding spinach and caramelized onions. It's thin crust, and the toppings are fresh and generous. But the crust left us disappointed. It was thin but not particularly crispy or toothsome, more a white-bread version of a thin crust. And a couple of the toppings didn't work; the pesto on the Robby was administered in blobs; catching one in a bite was too much pesto at once. On the other pie, the caramelized onions were too cloying for my tastes, and, like the pesto, unevenly spread. A more careful hand in the kitchen would do wonders. As fellow Bistrovian BrO never fails to remind: "Attention must be paid!"
We also ordered two apps, a large mixed salad and roasted cauliflower: Well done, nicely dressed, and generous portions both.
It's nearly at the beach, Noriega and 46th, and when we walked in much of the clientele were young adults with hoodies and cold-weather knit caps drinking draft beer at the bar: a fine apres-surf setting. The room is big, full of fun (often winkingly bad) art, and high-ceilinged. It's partitioned in two by a wall that allows the kitchen/bar and dining sides to feel each other's presence but blocks some of the bar noise from the eating area. Because of its high ceilings and, as I discovered half way through the meal, an open skylight, the room was also chilly, a bit of a turn-off for what's otherwise a friendly, funky joint.
Worth going back? At less than $20 a person (two of the four in our party had a glass of wine; no dessert), it was the right price, much more reasonable than what you'd pay at Pizzetta or Gialina. And I really liked the room, chill notwithstanding. (Next time, wear the ski cap!) With a few tweaks, or perhaps knowing the strengths of the menu, it would be worth another visit. Perhaps we can ask them to leave the crust in a bit longer.
10/16/07
From Kristen: Soup for You
When Anthony and I embarked on a pork and pink-bean soup with corn-muffin croutons this weekend, I had modest expectations. I have long lacked kitchen confidence, a side effect of my general laziness toward cooking and a chronic lack of imagination in front of a full refrigerator. But with the changing of the seasons has come a roaring appetite -- not just for food but for the making of it.
I found the recipe in this month's Food and Wine magazine, and pretty soon I was mixing batter for the ultra-easy Johnny cake that would provide the croutons. Then I chopped onion and garlic while A got started with the bacon strips. We softened up the basics and threw in a little green and orange bell pepper before adding the maple syrup, which pleased my East Coast sensibilities.
Soon came the beans, browned bacon and chicken stock. Anthony went off recipe and tossed in some boneless chicken. A garnish of chopped red onions topped it off. I'm delighted to report the end result bore a close resemblance to the picture on the page! [An example is at right. -- Ed.] We lapped up several bowls' worth as if we were famished farmers working the plow all day. Ah, the nostalgia of harvest.
Only thing I would change next time is I'd cut the amount of bacon in half -- less of the strong taste and animal fat go a long way.
I found the recipe in this month's Food and Wine magazine, and pretty soon I was mixing batter for the ultra-easy Johnny cake that would provide the croutons. Then I chopped onion and garlic while A got started with the bacon strips. We softened up the basics and threw in a little green and orange bell pepper before adding the maple syrup, which pleased my East Coast sensibilities.
Soon came the beans, browned bacon and chicken stock. Anthony went off recipe and tossed in some boneless chicken. A garnish of chopped red onions topped it off. I'm delighted to report the end result bore a close resemblance to the picture on the page! [An example is at right. -- Ed.] We lapped up several bowls' worth as if we were famished farmers working the plow all day. Ah, the nostalgia of harvest.Only thing I would change next time is I'd cut the amount of bacon in half -- less of the strong taste and animal fat go a long way.
10/15/07
Breakfast Butt-rito
"We don't try to hide what these are," Haley said. "When consumers go to other fast-food places they feel like they've got to buy two of their breakfast sandwiches or burritos to fill up. This is really designed to fill you up."
10/11/07
Pizza My Heart
Everyone's noticed that this town has gone pizza-crazy recently. When I moved here 7 years ago, there was nary a good pie to be had (perhaps Pauline's was the pinnacle at the time).
Today there's a great diversity of dough, sauce and cheese on offer, and a much higher threshold to cross to enter the city's competitive pizza joint landscape.
It's not surprising that Michael Bauer has jumped on the bandwagon, starting a weekly blog entry about pizza around the Bay Area. So far, he did a good job nailing Gialina in Glen Park. But we'll have to wait and see what else he uncovers. One place we haven't tried that has been amped up in the press lately is the Pizza Place on Noriega, supposedly an East Coast-style dough thrower. When we do get around to sampling their pies, we'll share the verdict here first.
Today there's a great diversity of dough, sauce and cheese on offer, and a much higher threshold to cross to enter the city's competitive pizza joint landscape.
It's not surprising that Michael Bauer has jumped on the bandwagon, starting a weekly blog entry about pizza around the Bay Area. So far, he did a good job nailing Gialina in Glen Park. But we'll have to wait and see what else he uncovers. One place we haven't tried that has been amped up in the press lately is the Pizza Place on Noriega, supposedly an East Coast-style dough thrower. When we do get around to sampling their pies, we'll share the verdict here first.
10/10/07
Try Waxing
> Mrs. Useloff, 36, was once a picky eater herself. Although she drank gallons of milk, she couldn’t abide raw fruits or vegetables. New foods with strange textures literally frightened her. The aversion lasted until her 20s, when she worked to overcome her fears. Even today, she refuses to buy cucumbers.
Probably because she already has one up her butt:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/10/dining/10pick.html
I'm having a fine day otherwise, but while suddenly irritating, let me ask this: If you have kids but don't blog about them, are they really there?
Probably because she already has one up her butt:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/10/dining/10pick.html
I'm having a fine day otherwise, but while suddenly irritating, let me ask this: If you have kids but don't blog about them, are they really there?
10/9/07
Shouldering the Burden
Anyone know what to do with those boneless, skinless strips of pork shoulder from TJ's? They cook (and overcook) in mere minutes in a skillet. Are they supposed to be coarsely chopped and simmered low and slow in a sauce, like a mole or chile verde? Thrown into a pho soup with noodles? Also, please tell me what to do once I've already browned them whole.
10/7/07
Review: From Blue Jay to Nopa
The Blue Jay Cafe and Nopa are two ends of a spectrum, two ends of a new destination corridor that for better or for worse the out-of-towners have marked on their maps, still a bit titillated by the "random shootings" the neighborhood was "once mostly known for."
This past week I ate at both and, not entirely putting thoughts on class and gentrification aside, enjoyed both thoroughly. A quick summary of each:
- The Blue Jay is a soul-food place, a nod to the neighborhood's decades as African-American but staffed by young white ladies upfront and Latino guys in the kitchen. I'd eaten there once before with uninspired results. Unable to get into Little Star Pizza without waiting an hour, Tony and I walked into Blue Jay on the late side Tuesday to the sound of Ozzy Osbourne on the house speakers. Two tables over, a patron complained to his tablemates that his beans were thoroughly uncooked. The waitresses seemed barely interested. Uh-oh.
My fears were unfounded. The large salad we split was excellent and lightly dressed, which in itself was stunning. I pegged it as the type of place that ruins a salad by slathering it. The side cornbread was scrumptious. Same for the entrees -- mine the red beans 'n' rice with andouille, Tony's the burger with a fried egg atop. The music remained rock 'n' roll but the volume receded to a suitable volume (suitable to two guys in their late 30s, at least), and the service was friendly and attentive. I was impressed, and I said so with a derisive snort aimed at the trendier spots down the street.
- Nopa would be a far easier target for anti-gentrification sentiment if it weren't so damn good. The Fanch and I had a belated mutual birthday/anniversary splurge Thursday and used a gift certificate we'd been saving. We reserved a week in advance for 6pm, the first seating of the evening, and even then had to wait til 6.10. (At least they didn't pull the abhorrent Slanted Door routine of forcing their reservees to wait an hour just to build a line and buzz.)
Soon we sat. I'm not sure why, but I was a bit put off by the tiny amuse-bouche placed before us: two slivers of apple each with a dab of almond butter. Perhaps the precious size, barely a whisper of food, but hey, it was free.
We started with a marinated squid salad and roasted sardines, and both delivered what I always look for in a restaurant that charges a premium: something I've never had before. In the squid salad, it was spicy roasted chickpeas, a delightful nutty counterpoint to the chewy tang of the squid. With the sardines it was the tarragon-infused broth -- the sardine filets perched above the broth on bruschetta-like bread rounds that sopped up the liquid.
Our third appetizer, the flatbread with fennel sausage, could have passed as an entree. Unlike the other apps, it was both more familiar and more generous a portion, something a skilled home chef might bring out to feed friends in front of the TV. It was upscale comfort food at its finest, with gruyere, caramelized onions and radicchio rounding out the toppings.
Our entrees were the vegetarian tagine and lamb shank, and after gorging on the flatbread we figured we'd have to take one of the entrees home. We took home less than we expected, mainly because the tagine was an irresistible example of simple food done exquisitely. The jumble of veg -- potato, turnip, red pepper, eggplant, chickpea -- tasted so fresh it made me suspect the restaurant had a roof garden. The turnips in particular were fabulous, slightly nutty and spicy but without the whiff of ammonia that makes kids, and many others the world over, hate turnips. Sprinkled throughout were toasted almonds and generous spoonfuls of lemon yogurt.
The turnips also showed up with the lamb shank, much to my delight.
As for service, the waitress recommended two glasses of red and each time nailed the description and the pairing I hoped for. (The Grenache-Cinsault '06 Cotes du Rhone with the appetizers, followed by the Corvina Valpolicella with the tagine.)
All this excellence wasn't cheap: $140 for two including tip. It's a bit unclear how the restaurant wants to be a neighborhood hangout where locals go two or three times a week -- something the chef once told our own intrepid restaurant reporter. I don't think he means the same locals who also make Popeye's Fried Chicken a neighborhood hangout. (Or even the Bean Bag Cafe.) I guess you could pop in on your way home from work and sit at the bar with a $12 burger or a $16 tagine, but like so many things in our little island town, the perspective has gotten a bit skewed.
This past week I ate at both and, not entirely putting thoughts on class and gentrification aside, enjoyed both thoroughly. A quick summary of each:
- The Blue Jay is a soul-food place, a nod to the neighborhood's decades as African-American but staffed by young white ladies upfront and Latino guys in the kitchen. I'd eaten there once before with uninspired results. Unable to get into Little Star Pizza without waiting an hour, Tony and I walked into Blue Jay on the late side Tuesday to the sound of Ozzy Osbourne on the house speakers. Two tables over, a patron complained to his tablemates that his beans were thoroughly uncooked. The waitresses seemed barely interested. Uh-oh.
My fears were unfounded. The large salad we split was excellent and lightly dressed, which in itself was stunning. I pegged it as the type of place that ruins a salad by slathering it. The side cornbread was scrumptious. Same for the entrees -- mine the red beans 'n' rice with andouille, Tony's the burger with a fried egg atop. The music remained rock 'n' roll but the volume receded to a suitable volume (suitable to two guys in their late 30s, at least), and the service was friendly and attentive. I was impressed, and I said so with a derisive snort aimed at the trendier spots down the street.
- Nopa would be a far easier target for anti-gentrification sentiment if it weren't so damn good. The Fanch and I had a belated mutual birthday/anniversary splurge Thursday and used a gift certificate we'd been saving. We reserved a week in advance for 6pm, the first seating of the evening, and even then had to wait til 6.10. (At least they didn't pull the abhorrent Slanted Door routine of forcing their reservees to wait an hour just to build a line and buzz.)
Soon we sat. I'm not sure why, but I was a bit put off by the tiny amuse-bouche placed before us: two slivers of apple each with a dab of almond butter. Perhaps the precious size, barely a whisper of food, but hey, it was free.
We started with a marinated squid salad and roasted sardines, and both delivered what I always look for in a restaurant that charges a premium: something I've never had before. In the squid salad, it was spicy roasted chickpeas, a delightful nutty counterpoint to the chewy tang of the squid. With the sardines it was the tarragon-infused broth -- the sardine filets perched above the broth on bruschetta-like bread rounds that sopped up the liquid.
Our third appetizer, the flatbread with fennel sausage, could have passed as an entree. Unlike the other apps, it was both more familiar and more generous a portion, something a skilled home chef might bring out to feed friends in front of the TV. It was upscale comfort food at its finest, with gruyere, caramelized onions and radicchio rounding out the toppings.
Our entrees were the vegetarian tagine and lamb shank, and after gorging on the flatbread we figured we'd have to take one of the entrees home. We took home less than we expected, mainly because the tagine was an irresistible example of simple food done exquisitely. The jumble of veg -- potato, turnip, red pepper, eggplant, chickpea -- tasted so fresh it made me suspect the restaurant had a roof garden. The turnips in particular were fabulous, slightly nutty and spicy but without the whiff of ammonia that makes kids, and many others the world over, hate turnips. Sprinkled throughout were toasted almonds and generous spoonfuls of lemon yogurt.
The turnips also showed up with the lamb shank, much to my delight.
As for service, the waitress recommended two glasses of red and each time nailed the description and the pairing I hoped for. (The Grenache-Cinsault '06 Cotes du Rhone with the appetizers, followed by the Corvina Valpolicella with the tagine.)
All this excellence wasn't cheap: $140 for two including tip. It's a bit unclear how the restaurant wants to be a neighborhood hangout where locals go two or three times a week -- something the chef once told our own intrepid restaurant reporter. I don't think he means the same locals who also make Popeye's Fried Chicken a neighborhood hangout. (Or even the Bean Bag Cafe.) I guess you could pop in on your way home from work and sit at the bar with a $12 burger or a $16 tagine, but like so many things in our little island town, the perspective has gotten a bit skewed.
10/5/07
Review: Bistro 9
Bistro 9 opened a month or so ago on 9th Avenue, a casual Moroccan-Greek joint run by the folks behind Kan Zaman and the Citrus Club. I imagine it hopes to capitalize on its proximity to Park Chow a few doors down, picking up the usual evening overflow, and so far it seems to be working
Alex, my mom and I ate there Saturday and were cautiously impressed with the whole package--food, service and ambiance.
We all ordered the kabob platter plus, which includes three meat skewers, two sides and rice pilaf, but made sure not to duplicate choices to sample a wide range of dishes.
The place excels at grilled meat. My chicken skewers in a mint-cumin-yogurt marinade were tender and flavorful as were Alex’s lamb and salmon and my mom’s tangy kefte beef ones.
The sides, however, were uneven; my grilled vegetables a bit underdone and my pearl couscous too mushy, but the beet salad satisfied and the wonderful grilled eggplant slathered in tomato sauce melted in your mouth. Unfortunately, the white bean Provencal was flat. Still, the rice was fantastic and the portions were huge.
Overall, the restaurant had a cheerful hum. There’s a lovely patio out front, a warm, candle-lit main dining room with an exposed brick wall that runs along one side and an L-shaped patio out back with heat lamps, where we sat since it was a fine September evening. The service was speedy and courteous, and the check very, very reasonable.
We also eyed our neighbors’ roasted chickens and Greek salads, which looked great. All in all, I’d say it’s definitely worth returning to as a neighborhood staple, but I don’t think it merits a special trip from other parts of town.
10/4/07
Fork New York
Setting aside the daily lunch grabs at the DJ cafeteria (you'll never meet nicer guys behind a counter, anywhere), not out of anything negative but out of expediency, I loved everything I ate in the city last week.
A few things popped out; there were some oddities, like that ice in beer I saw in Pennsylvania the last time I went east. Speaking of, every single beer at the Kerbs Boathouse concession in the park is $7, bottle or draft, domestic or imported. I had a Hebrew National for $5 and found a bench in the sun. Oh yes.
Why are scrambled eggs cooked to order at most Greek diners, upscale or not, too dry? Do you have to ask for them wet? Does every single place to eat buy cannellini beans from the same supplier? Probably.
The two worthy meals of note: In reverse order, Uskudar is a tiny Turkish place in the Upper East's avenues that we popped into because it got blurbed in a copy of New York magazine we lugged around. Starters were not auspicious or impressive at all, and a little pricey. A side serving of same-old cannellini, and not many of them, sautéed with a little onion and tomato paste or something shouldn't be $7 or $8. (A similar-size portion of fava beans with tomatoes and French feta at Aziza, by contrast, comes piping hot out of the oven and is worth whatever the market will bear. Which at Aziza is a lot.)
For main course I winged it and was won over by the manti (one version at right) which are Turkish dumplings in a tangy yogurt sauce. A single one of these morsels of meat-stuffed dough can sit on a nickel, and I had me a bowl with about five bucks' worth of nickels. The highlight, however, was inviting an older couple to sit at an adjacent table and having very casual, nonintrusive chatter at comfortable intervals among the four of us.
Turns out they've been coming to Uskudar every Monday for 25 years. Turns out they have actually been to my hometown of Mayagüez a few times to visit a friend. It blew me away. I got so giddy I didn't catch the gent's name. I wish my mom woulda been there; she knows everybody.
Then there was the delightful Da Andrea on Hudson, where we met Amy, a former colleague of Kristen's, along with Amy's husband Paul and a strapping almost 3-year-old Max. A&P used to live in the Village and in the same building as the couple that runs Da Andrea. Naturally they love Max. They also know what Max loves best.
Neither Michael Eisner nor Michael Ovitz in his heyday could have gotten bottled water faster than Max gets his Parmesan, sliced fresh at the table, chop chop. The host and co-owner (whose name I forget, again giddy on my way out after the Italian double kiss) was patient, listening and recommended a few dishes for us even as the place was about to pop with people. Of course, she goes and orders up most of the things on the menu and some specials off it to go with them.
The first flotilla of plates was dizzying -- grapefruit-red prosciutto with soft, flat buns to make mini sandwiches, soft polenta that warmed you all over, the octopus salad, I can't recall them all. Complete knockout. No idea why I passed up the veal sweetbreads for the lamb shank with the same damn cannellini, but that's the way it goes. There was plenty of meats and pastas to share anyway, and they were very good.
After a round of desserts, check comes and it's $99. I pick it up and Amy and Paul leave a $25 tip. Max takes his penne to go.
My thoughts: It's a beautiful thing about the city that you meet all sorts of people, some of whom beam when they see good friends coming into their restaurant with other soon friends. But sitting there taking it all in, I had to ask Paul: How do New Yorkers pick a favorite restaurant, particularly an Italian one, in a neighborhood drowning in red sauce? Word of mouth, he says. Thoughts? I know I've done my part for Da Andrea.
A few things popped out; there were some oddities, like that ice in beer I saw in Pennsylvania the last time I went east. Speaking of, every single beer at the Kerbs Boathouse concession in the park is $7, bottle or draft, domestic or imported. I had a Hebrew National for $5 and found a bench in the sun. Oh yes.
Why are scrambled eggs cooked to order at most Greek diners, upscale or not, too dry? Do you have to ask for them wet? Does every single place to eat buy cannellini beans from the same supplier? Probably.
The two worthy meals of note: In reverse order, Uskudar is a tiny Turkish place in the Upper East's avenues that we popped into because it got blurbed in a copy of New York magazine we lugged around. Starters were not auspicious or impressive at all, and a little pricey. A side serving of same-old cannellini, and not many of them, sautéed with a little onion and tomato paste or something shouldn't be $7 or $8. (A similar-size portion of fava beans with tomatoes and French feta at Aziza, by contrast, comes piping hot out of the oven and is worth whatever the market will bear. Which at Aziza is a lot.)
For main course I winged it and was won over by the manti (one version at right) which are Turkish dumplings in a tangy yogurt sauce. A single one of these morsels of meat-stuffed dough can sit on a nickel, and I had me a bowl with about five bucks' worth of nickels. The highlight, however, was inviting an older couple to sit at an adjacent table and having very casual, nonintrusive chatter at comfortable intervals among the four of us. Turns out they've been coming to Uskudar every Monday for 25 years. Turns out they have actually been to my hometown of Mayagüez a few times to visit a friend. It blew me away. I got so giddy I didn't catch the gent's name. I wish my mom woulda been there; she knows everybody.
Then there was the delightful Da Andrea on Hudson, where we met Amy, a former colleague of Kristen's, along with Amy's husband Paul and a strapping almost 3-year-old Max. A&P used to live in the Village and in the same building as the couple that runs Da Andrea. Naturally they love Max. They also know what Max loves best.
Neither Michael Eisner nor Michael Ovitz in his heyday could have gotten bottled water faster than Max gets his Parmesan, sliced fresh at the table, chop chop. The host and co-owner (whose name I forget, again giddy on my way out after the Italian double kiss) was patient, listening and recommended a few dishes for us even as the place was about to pop with people. Of course, she goes and orders up most of the things on the menu and some specials off it to go with them.
The first flotilla of plates was dizzying -- grapefruit-red prosciutto with soft, flat buns to make mini sandwiches, soft polenta that warmed you all over, the octopus salad, I can't recall them all. Complete knockout. No idea why I passed up the veal sweetbreads for the lamb shank with the same damn cannellini, but that's the way it goes. There was plenty of meats and pastas to share anyway, and they were very good.
After a round of desserts, check comes and it's $99. I pick it up and Amy and Paul leave a $25 tip. Max takes his penne to go.
My thoughts: It's a beautiful thing about the city that you meet all sorts of people, some of whom beam when they see good friends coming into their restaurant with other soon friends. But sitting there taking it all in, I had to ask Paul: How do New Yorkers pick a favorite restaurant, particularly an Italian one, in a neighborhood drowning in red sauce? Word of mouth, he says. Thoughts? I know I've done my part for Da Andrea.
10/2/07
Only in New York
Haven't found the time to squeeze in reports from my recent trip yet, but I had to chime in with a Bruni Alert: sidewalk dining, which of course we understand as disgusting and do it anyway. Kind of like that show with Pat O'Brien as well as the Drudge Report.
FB liked his own piece so much that he followed up on his blog with something from the mailbag:
> “I am reminded,” the reader wrote, “of one of my favorite vintage New Yorker cartoons, where a mother is sitting with her young son at a Manhattan outdoor cafe and urging him to ‘hurry up and eat before your food gets dirty, dear.’”
FB liked his own piece so much that he followed up on his blog with something from the mailbag:
> “I am reminded,” the reader wrote, “of one of my favorite vintage New Yorker cartoons, where a mother is sitting with her young son at a Manhattan outdoor cafe and urging him to ‘hurry up and eat before your food gets dirty, dear.’”
Review: The Brickhouse
This comes a bit late, as baseball season just ended, but I have a new contender for favorite pre-game pub. I'm a big fan of the 21st Amendment, which I've never reviewed but will someday, and you can't beat their homegrown, but the Brickhouse offers a different atmosphere. It's quiet, it's airy, and the slightly punky, slightly granola wait-staff and high wooden rafters give it more the feel of a farmhouse collective than a sports pub. (And no, it's not a brew pub, but with Anchor Steam on tap, it's close enough.)
Like the 21st, the Brickhouse pares down (and prices up?) the menu on game days -- burgers, sandwiches, salads, and the like. (Non-game days feature more variety.) I had the veggie chili (pretty good) and a large spinach salad (very good). Too small a sample size to say anything definitive about the food. Consider it a developing situation.
Like the 21st, the Brickhouse pares down (and prices up?) the menu on game days -- burgers, sandwiches, salads, and the like. (Non-game days feature more variety.) I had the veggie chili (pretty good) and a large spinach salad (very good). Too small a sample size to say anything definitive about the food. Consider it a developing situation.
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