Ground turkey is now a staple in our household, for pasta sauces, for lasagna, for meatloaf, but most satisfyingly, for burgers. Mmmm, burgers. Such a pleasure with grilled onions, perhaps mushrooms, and a melted slice of sharp cheddar or goat gouda.
No matter how hard I've tried to doctor the turkey patties -- worcestershire sauce, chopped onion, mustard, salt, pepper, teriyaki, you name it -- I've never quite overcome ground turkey's tragic flaw. It's bland. It's even a bit cardboardish. It's relatively umami-less, even when gussied up with classic umami additives like soy or worcestershire. The lack isn't enough to deter me from eating turkey burgers, but there's always been the nagging feeling that they could be better. (And that they don't taste as good as beef.)
No more. I've figured it out. The secret ingredient is cumin, the spice that reminds many of a hippie pad because of the slight tinge of, I hate to say this, but it's true -- body odor. Never mind that. A generous sprinkle into the raw meat, along with your other favorite flavorings, and the turkey loses its turkeyness. (And used in a poultice, it relieves swelling of the breasts and testicles, according to this site.)
I wonder if the chemistry of cumin is related to beef or perhaps more deeply related to umami than other spices. A cursory search on cumin and glutamates and umami doesn't reveal anything solid. Maybe it's just that the redolence of cumin reminds me, Proustianly, of childhood ground-beef taco nights. Feel free to add to this nascent body of research...
By the way, here's another take on the Bistro Hugo "Yuck?" concept: TGRWT, ie, "They go really well together."
5/27/08
Guest Star Turn, or El Pollo Loco
[Allow me to introduce my cool-headed and epicurean colleague, Michelle Coffey, with a recipe. -A]
Blood(less) Orange Chicken
I like cooking with blood oranges, but I've had enough accidents involving my finger and a slicer to make me disproportionately squeamish at the sight of the peeled and sectioned fruit. For this chicken masterpiece, I have a smart workaround that involves freshly squeezed orange juice (a la carton!).
So, Sunday is my trash-bag day, the day I rip apart the fridge and dispose of gamy meat, rotting fruit, brown greens, mayonnaise and salad dressing that was best in '05, etc. This otherwise peaceful weekend day makes Mr. Coffey very, very nervous as I have been known to barbarically and cold-heartedly toss out his jar of (debatably) empty salsa, his tiny army of expired low-fat yogurt cups and most recently, his skunky band of decomposing shrimp that I argue were no longer edible.
Sunday is also the day I find things that are edible but likely will not survive another day, and I pool everything together into something that passes as delicious. This week's findings: a white onion on the brink of green, garlic that is sprouting a green shoot, leftover lemons and Mr. Coffey's martini olives. United as one is a pleasant blend of sour and sweet, though a sloppy mixture that is not on the photogenic side, so maybe best on a night you are not aiming to impress.
4 chicken thighs with bone in, skin on
2 teaspoons olive oil
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 white onion, sliced
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup pitted green olives, chopped
Side note: Mr. Coffey likes his green olives in his vodka martini, but not in his chicken, so eliminate if you feel the same.
Preparation: Season chicken with salt and pepper. In a skillet over medium-high heat, brown chicken, then remove from skillet. Pour out all but one tablespoon of fat. Reduce heat to moderate. Add garlic, onion to the skillet. Cook until golden. Stir in cumin, orange juice, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Add chicken. Add olives (or not). Simmer for 25 minutes.
Blood(less) Orange Chicken
I like cooking with blood oranges, but I've had enough accidents involving my finger and a slicer to make me disproportionately squeamish at the sight of the peeled and sectioned fruit. For this chicken masterpiece, I have a smart workaround that involves freshly squeezed orange juice (a la carton!).
So, Sunday is my trash-bag day, the day I rip apart the fridge and dispose of gamy meat, rotting fruit, brown greens, mayonnaise and salad dressing that was best in '05, etc. This otherwise peaceful weekend day makes Mr. Coffey very, very nervous as I have been known to barbarically and cold-heartedly toss out his jar of (debatably) empty salsa, his tiny army of expired low-fat yogurt cups and most recently, his skunky band of decomposing shrimp that I argue were no longer edible.
Sunday is also the day I find things that are edible but likely will not survive another day, and I pool everything together into something that passes as delicious. This week's findings: a white onion on the brink of green, garlic that is sprouting a green shoot, leftover lemons and Mr. Coffey's martini olives. United as one is a pleasant blend of sour and sweet, though a sloppy mixture that is not on the photogenic side, so maybe best on a night you are not aiming to impress.
4 chicken thighs with bone in, skin on
2 teaspoons olive oil
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 white onion, sliced
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup pitted green olives, chopped
Side note: Mr. Coffey likes his green olives in his vodka martini, but not in his chicken, so eliminate if you feel the same.
Preparation: Season chicken with salt and pepper. In a skillet over medium-high heat, brown chicken, then remove from skillet. Pour out all but one tablespoon of fat. Reduce heat to moderate. Add garlic, onion to the skillet. Cook until golden. Stir in cumin, orange juice, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Add chicken. Add olives (or not). Simmer for 25 minutes.
The Simple Pleasure of Lunch at Home
* turkey and goat gouda sandwich, melted, on lightly toasted wheat sourdough
* cold soba with sliced cucumber, feta and rice vinegar
* a chilled, crisp grannysmith apple
* a half cup of reheated coffee
* cold soba with sliced cucumber, feta and rice vinegar
* a chilled, crisp grannysmith apple
* a half cup of reheated coffee
5/19/08
Greek to Me
Fleeing the fog and the Bay to Breakers mess (a disaster for the city environmentally and possibly lethal to anyone in alcoholic recovery), K and I headed to the South Bay to dip in a pool. Wading in the 80-plus degree heat, no clouds in the sky, Kristen tells me she wants some Greek food. I love it when she says "I want some Greek food."
Right before six we walk right in to Evvia, which I now realize is the Palo Alto sister to the a-little-stuffy Kokkari here in the city. No way I'd ever have wandered to the Jackson Square place in a shlightly shweaty T-shirt and faded black jeans, but by tucking it in I was making a gesture toward being presentable in Nerdsville. The hostess didn't even blink and sat us down straight away.
Quickly, the starters: lentil soup for the lady, grilled octopus with roasted red peppers and olives in a frisee salad for me. Fabulous, and a nice pairing to a dry glass of Santorini white. The main courses did not falter: souvlaki for K, and a grilled branzino with lemon, olive oil and braised greens for A -- A for Atkins.
The fish was perfectly cooked and delicious; never mind the bones when it's this good. But what are the greens, I asked, chard? No, said the Latino busser, es horta. What's horta? Well, the waiter elaborated, it's a spinach-like Mediterranean green that's grown on spec for the restaurant in Watsonville. Hot damn!
For dessert, we had the baklava, and this time it was done right.
Evvia and Kokkari ain't cheap, as everybody knows (about $50 a person), but the room is convivial, service is excellent and the kitchen knows what it serves and why. An excellent ending to a Sunday in the sun.
Right before six we walk right in to Evvia, which I now realize is the Palo Alto sister to the a-little-stuffy Kokkari here in the city. No way I'd ever have wandered to the Jackson Square place in a shlightly shweaty T-shirt and faded black jeans, but by tucking it in I was making a gesture toward being presentable in Nerdsville. The hostess didn't even blink and sat us down straight away.
Quickly, the starters: lentil soup for the lady, grilled octopus with roasted red peppers and olives in a frisee salad for me. Fabulous, and a nice pairing to a dry glass of Santorini white. The main courses did not falter: souvlaki for K, and a grilled branzino with lemon, olive oil and braised greens for A -- A for Atkins.
The fish was perfectly cooked and delicious; never mind the bones when it's this good. But what are the greens, I asked, chard? No, said the Latino busser, es horta. What's horta? Well, the waiter elaborated, it's a spinach-like Mediterranean green that's grown on spec for the restaurant in Watsonville. Hot damn!
For dessert, we had the baklava, and this time it was done right.
Evvia and Kokkari ain't cheap, as everybody knows (about $50 a person), but the room is convivial, service is excellent and the kitchen knows what it serves and why. An excellent ending to a Sunday in the sun.
5/12/08
Sol Food: Update
It's been about six months since we hit Sol Food in San Rafael, and quickly let me report that the music's still loud, the beans are the bomb, the plantains flash-fried and the letter from Angelo about the color scheme remains in its place on the menu box outside. It's not like no one sees it; queues still stretch out the door.
So it raises an interesting question: Who woulda thought that there would be enough of a market in Marin, of all places, for P-Rican bistec, pork, chicken and plantains? I don't believe it's simply the reasonable prices; San Rafaelers can spend more. (There also are no liquor sales, not even beer and wine, one of the solid profit centers of any eatery.) It must be the casual and welcoming environment -- you come in and order at counter and food comes and then you eat. You can bring kids and take half of your plate home. No big fuss, and that's refreshing.
So it raises an interesting question: Who woulda thought that there would be enough of a market in Marin, of all places, for P-Rican bistec, pork, chicken and plantains? I don't believe it's simply the reasonable prices; San Rafaelers can spend more. (There also are no liquor sales, not even beer and wine, one of the solid profit centers of any eatery.) It must be the casual and welcoming environment -- you come in and order at counter and food comes and then you eat. You can bring kids and take half of your plate home. No big fuss, and that's refreshing.
5/1/08
Post-production pick-me-up
El Jomo and I went down to Mountain View for an afternoon shoot and then shot back to the city to go over the video. The work session quickly adjourned to Perbacco, where we got to sample of couple of newish things. (So old-fashioned.)
First there was the roasted red and gold beets with arugula and Castelmagno cheese, and then came the seared squid with bean puree and lemon. (Tasted like Meyer lemon, but the online menu says preserved lemon.) Damn if they weren't dynamite. The highlight involved the bartender Scott, of course, and his improvised set of connected straws for Jomo to slurp some of my Ligurian white.
First there was the roasted red and gold beets with arugula and Castelmagno cheese, and then came the seared squid with bean puree and lemon. (Tasted like Meyer lemon, but the online menu says preserved lemon.) Damn if they weren't dynamite. The highlight involved the bartender Scott, of course, and his improvised set of connected straws for Jomo to slurp some of my Ligurian white.
4/30/08
Laz & Lash: Satiating South of Market
-----Original Message-----
From: Laz
Sent: Wednesday, April 30, 2008 12:05 AM
To: Lash
Subject: South Park Cafe
For the second or maybe third time in memory, El Lefty again graciously invited your blogger, El Gran Laz, to the House of Mays (now sans Bonds, and depending on the rotation, no Blowout Zito), and after the requisite rendezvous at Perbacco we were perched at the counter of South Park Cafe for another excellent series of degustations -- and so influential was this last seating that I brought the wife back the very next night to sample the plates.
Now I'm struck with this idea that chef Ward Little at South Park has been doing his thing for some time now; I remember first seeing it 10 years ago, after the neighborhood was well on its way to transformation. (Apparently the area used to be a good place to ditch a stolen car or score some dope.) But like good sex with your steady, something about dining there seems invigorating every time. What and how is this? Lash and I will pass some comments by email, which I'll pop up here.
Let me start with some general thoughts: First, the scale of South Park Cafe may very well be perfect. With 10 to 15 tables, the staff doesn't have to travel very far to make their rounds. You're just as comfy at the counter or on the banquette. The lights hang from the ceiling, but not too low yet not too high. As for the back of the house, there seems to be enough room around the stove and grill for a couple of cooks, although I haven't seen what's called the cold station, much less the prep.
Second, don't mess with the best. If you can sell a top-notch steak and frites, the freshest salads with select bits of pig and dynamite desserts along with an eclectic set of wines and other beverages in a laid-back room, why gussy up with gimmicks and attitude? Your regulars probably keep coming because there's a dearth, to be blunt, of the bullshit they deal with elsewhere.
Last point: Maybe it's the bits of pig. The appetizing terrine (which sounds delicious even if you don't remember what it is, like profiterole) had some, as did the lentils and cabbage in my roast duck entree.
ELM, how does this sit with you?
Original Message:
-----------------
From: Lash
Sent: Wed, 30 Apr 2008 15:21:30
To: Laz
The South Park always sits well with me. I'm there several times a year during baseball season. Sitting at the bar for a martini, a glass of red and a light shared dinner is my favorite pregame ritual, and I've never had a bad meal. Never. I don't think I've ever had a bad dish, not even one that was well intentioned but went wrong.
Think about that. How is it possible to get it right, every single time? Am I just extraordinarily lucky? Perhaps, but the old saw about making your own luck holds sway here. You've hit upon some of the reasons: the room, its scale and its warm lack of pretension set the mood; one tends to be more forgiving when completely in one's element. (Though I've never had to be forgiving.)
The menu is rock-solid and simple, although many of the dishes are deceptively simple. Take the red-rice salad we ordered: rice and grilled vegetables. How often do you spend $16 or whatever it was on a large ramekin-sized mound of rice and a modest helping of grilled veggies, wipe the plate clean and feel like an honored guest? Ward's trick with the rice: just enough ground coriander seed.
Side note: Have you ever bitten into a coriander seed? It's overwhelming and nauseating. It's not just spice; it's a glimpse into the pure essence of spice, and it's far too much for a human being to handle. To bring that down to acceptable levels yet keep it so obviously, strongly coriander, is a magician's trick, in my book.
What did you have when you returned with your Lovely and Talented?
From: Laz
Sent: Wednesday, April 30, 2008 12:05 AM
To: Lash
Subject: South Park Cafe
For the second or maybe third time in memory, El Lefty again graciously invited your blogger, El Gran Laz, to the House of Mays (now sans Bonds, and depending on the rotation, no Blowout Zito), and after the requisite rendezvous at Perbacco we were perched at the counter of South Park Cafe for another excellent series of degustations -- and so influential was this last seating that I brought the wife back the very next night to sample the plates.
Now I'm struck with this idea that chef Ward Little at South Park has been doing his thing for some time now; I remember first seeing it 10 years ago, after the neighborhood was well on its way to transformation. (Apparently the area used to be a good place to ditch a stolen car or score some dope.) But like good sex with your steady, something about dining there seems invigorating every time. What and how is this? Lash and I will pass some comments by email, which I'll pop up here.
Let me start with some general thoughts: First, the scale of South Park Cafe may very well be perfect. With 10 to 15 tables, the staff doesn't have to travel very far to make their rounds. You're just as comfy at the counter or on the banquette. The lights hang from the ceiling, but not too low yet not too high. As for the back of the house, there seems to be enough room around the stove and grill for a couple of cooks, although I haven't seen what's called the cold station, much less the prep.
Second, don't mess with the best. If you can sell a top-notch steak and frites, the freshest salads with select bits of pig and dynamite desserts along with an eclectic set of wines and other beverages in a laid-back room, why gussy up with gimmicks and attitude? Your regulars probably keep coming because there's a dearth, to be blunt, of the bullshit they deal with elsewhere.
Last point: Maybe it's the bits of pig. The appetizing terrine (which sounds delicious even if you don't remember what it is, like profiterole) had some, as did the lentils and cabbage in my roast duck entree.
ELM, how does this sit with you?
Original Message:
-----------------
From: Lash
Sent: Wed, 30 Apr 2008 15:21:30
To: Laz
The South Park always sits well with me. I'm there several times a year during baseball season. Sitting at the bar for a martini, a glass of red and a light shared dinner is my favorite pregame ritual, and I've never had a bad meal. Never. I don't think I've ever had a bad dish, not even one that was well intentioned but went wrong.
Think about that. How is it possible to get it right, every single time? Am I just extraordinarily lucky? Perhaps, but the old saw about making your own luck holds sway here. You've hit upon some of the reasons: the room, its scale and its warm lack of pretension set the mood; one tends to be more forgiving when completely in one's element. (Though I've never had to be forgiving.)
The menu is rock-solid and simple, although many of the dishes are deceptively simple. Take the red-rice salad we ordered: rice and grilled vegetables. How often do you spend $16 or whatever it was on a large ramekin-sized mound of rice and a modest helping of grilled veggies, wipe the plate clean and feel like an honored guest? Ward's trick with the rice: just enough ground coriander seed.
Side note: Have you ever bitten into a coriander seed? It's overwhelming and nauseating. It's not just spice; it's a glimpse into the pure essence of spice, and it's far too much for a human being to handle. To bring that down to acceptable levels yet keep it so obviously, strongly coriander, is a magician's trick, in my book.
What did you have when you returned with your Lovely and Talented?
4/6/08
Where's the Geek Love?
I’m coming to this whole subject quite late, but that’s what happens when you work Sundays and have a chance to catch up. (Credit goes to Valleywag.)
Apparently, a lot of geeks have noticed that coffeehouses have started bitching about overhead like wages and rent. The coffee people have added it all up in Excel or even Google Docs, imagine, to figure out they need to make $100 an hour in sales so people can do their Bedouin thing on somebody else’s couch and connection instead of a cubicle.
I love this: "Coffee? Commodity retail has such low margins! Get a business plan and sell something else. Like private space so we can take a meeting."
Apparently, a lot of geeks have noticed that coffeehouses have started bitching about overhead like wages and rent. The coffee people have added it all up in Excel or even Google Docs, imagine, to figure out they need to make $100 an hour in sales so people can do their Bedouin thing on somebody else’s couch and connection instead of a cubicle.
I love this: "Coffee? Commodity retail has such low margins! Get a business plan and sell something else. Like private space so we can take a meeting."
3/26/08
Greens Party
I love ordering beets and turnips from the box, not just because the root veg goes great cut into chunks, brushed with olive oil, salt, pepper and a bit of cider vinegar, then roasted for 30 minutes; but also because they arrive with their greens attached. Here's what we did with a whole mess of turnip greens tonight.
3/24/08
Looking in on Water Bar
I'm waiting for my subprime portfolio to re-adjust before I open my wallet at the new outrageously priced Waterbar. Let's hope you pay for more than just the view when you spend $29 for their "version of fish and chips" -- their words, not mine. The view is spectacular, as shown in this promo photo from their Web site.
Here's the view from the outside in, snapped on a recent stroll up the Embarcadero.
Here's the view from the outside in, snapped on a recent stroll up the Embarcadero.
Yuck? The Okratini
Sophisticates put all manner of pickled things in their gin; why not Texas-style brined okra? It didn't quite have the toothsomeness of an olive or the crunch of a pearl onion, but lo, it wasn't bad. Behold.
3/22/08
Pasta for Lunch, Atkins for Dinner
After making more than enough gemelli for a nice couple of lunches, it was time to cut the carbs. Good thing the city still has outstanding, reasonably priced eateries to go along with those fortunate to have no-questions-asked expense accounts. (Thanks go to the gang of Jomo, and also to The Prisoner.)
With folks in tow, it was time to make another restaurant selection and reservation, and given that their palates lean mostly Italian, it was time to visit Jackson Fillmore Trattoria again. I ate there once, ages ago, and remembered it as a good place to take parents. I actually made this patronizing observation to my old man at another local Italian place, and he took more than slight offense, especially since he was paying. But not only is he over it now, he's also onto something about how unique places like Jackson Fillmore are in San Francisco.
Jackson Fillmore's unique because it's near the corner of Jackson and Fillmore in a somewhat nondescript storefront, yes, and because the food is drop-dead dynamite at a midrange price. All of our entrees were less than $20 and most of the starters peaked at less than half that and everybody got knocked out. Chicken king Phil (the dad) had half a roast bird in what was described as a Sicilian style, and it was no ordinary poulet roti -- this was moist and succulent even in the breast. My big score was getting the pan-fried pork chops with fried herbs, served on greens. Great texture with pork and the herbs, and no starch!
As good as our main courses were, we couldn't stop talking about the starter the waiter recommended, carpaccio di zucchini, julienned zuch with pecorino and toasted almonds. Nobody ever had anything like it and probably won't find it anywhere else. Our guy also tipped me to a fine glass of tempranillo. We hope to be back soon, while it's still catering to schnooks and their parents.
With folks in tow, it was time to make another restaurant selection and reservation, and given that their palates lean mostly Italian, it was time to visit Jackson Fillmore Trattoria again. I ate there once, ages ago, and remembered it as a good place to take parents. I actually made this patronizing observation to my old man at another local Italian place, and he took more than slight offense, especially since he was paying. But not only is he over it now, he's also onto something about how unique places like Jackson Fillmore are in San Francisco.
Jackson Fillmore's unique because it's near the corner of Jackson and Fillmore in a somewhat nondescript storefront, yes, and because the food is drop-dead dynamite at a midrange price. All of our entrees were less than $20 and most of the starters peaked at less than half that and everybody got knocked out. Chicken king Phil (the dad) had half a roast bird in what was described as a Sicilian style, and it was no ordinary poulet roti -- this was moist and succulent even in the breast. My big score was getting the pan-fried pork chops with fried herbs, served on greens. Great texture with pork and the herbs, and no starch!
As good as our main courses were, we couldn't stop talking about the starter the waiter recommended, carpaccio di zucchini, julienned zuch with pecorino and toasted almonds. Nobody ever had anything like it and probably won't find it anywhere else. Our guy also tipped me to a fine glass of tempranillo. We hope to be back soon, while it's still catering to schnooks and their parents.
3/19/08
Recipe: Seek and Ye Shall Find Pasta
The beauty of home cooking is the improvisation. Take white mushrooms on the edge of freshness + dried mushrooms well soaked + leftover broccoli + red onion and ... I get my umami on.
Round strip of pancetta, chopped
Half a red onion, sliced
Shallot and couple cloves of garlic, chopped
Handful of dried mushrooms, prepped (see below)
Handful of fresh mushrooms, sliced
Tomato, chopped
Steamed broccoli spears
Half a jar of TJ's marinara
Half a bag of gemelli
The dried-mushroom thing sounds like a pain in the ass, but the payoff is lots of delicious broth. Put some dried fungus in a bowl and then cover them with boiling water from the tea kettle to reconstitute. In about 20-30 minutes, you want to strain this using a cheesecloth or paper towel, saving all the liquid in another bowl for later. In between jobs, there's prep.
In a large sauté pan with hot olive oil, brown the pancetta a bit. Then add the onion and shallot and soften them up. Throw in the formerly dried mushrooms as well as the fresh ones, and season with some herbs and salt and pepper. Once those cook down a bit, add the tomato, and a little later toss in garlic. Then you're ready for the sauce. To really clean out the jar, use the mushroom broth; cap and shake, and pour in. Lower the heat. Once it's reduced, add the broccoli to bring the florets to temperature.
Cook your pasta till al dente; this doesn't take too long. Strain and finish cooking it in the sauté pan with the sauce. Stir well with some fresh or frozen basil, if you have it. Plate onto a warm pasta bowl; top with fresh grated Parmesan and red-pepper flakes. Pay yourself $14.95 + tax and tip.
Round strip of pancetta, chopped
Half a red onion, sliced
Shallot and couple cloves of garlic, chopped
Handful of dried mushrooms, prepped (see below)
Handful of fresh mushrooms, sliced
Tomato, chopped
Steamed broccoli spears
Half a jar of TJ's marinara
Half a bag of gemelli
The dried-mushroom thing sounds like a pain in the ass, but the payoff is lots of delicious broth. Put some dried fungus in a bowl and then cover them with boiling water from the tea kettle to reconstitute. In about 20-30 minutes, you want to strain this using a cheesecloth or paper towel, saving all the liquid in another bowl for later. In between jobs, there's prep.
In a large sauté pan with hot olive oil, brown the pancetta a bit. Then add the onion and shallot and soften them up. Throw in the formerly dried mushrooms as well as the fresh ones, and season with some herbs and salt and pepper. Once those cook down a bit, add the tomato, and a little later toss in garlic. Then you're ready for the sauce. To really clean out the jar, use the mushroom broth; cap and shake, and pour in. Lower the heat. Once it's reduced, add the broccoli to bring the florets to temperature.
Cook your pasta till al dente; this doesn't take too long. Strain and finish cooking it in the sauté pan with the sauce. Stir well with some fresh or frozen basil, if you have it. Plate onto a warm pasta bowl; top with fresh grated Parmesan and red-pepper flakes. Pay yourself $14.95 + tax and tip.
3/11/08
Use the Body, Now You Want My Soul
By popular request I am putting a thought together on body sushi, which appears to be the latest fad in theme dining.
(The theme of themes is in and of itself one of my least favorite things with food, but then again I’m pretty religious in my idealization of the whole process. To wit: Chicken is best eaten with your hands. When approaching pho, take the soup spoon in the left and grip the chopsticks with the right, or vice versa. The grand, non-negotiable order of the universe should be Champagne and shellfish first, then a Caesar and then your main course. Butcher-block paper on the tabletop is to be kept smooth, not curled up by arms and elbows, with doodling welcome. Most people do without the parenthetical graf and just say this is anal. Fine.)
I sent the story to the attention of the main Lefty Bistroan because I wondered whether people were so understimulated that they have to eat off naked people to get excited about something, or whether the guys on the business side were looking for a quick way to rack up the tabs. Then as I was gorging on Spitzer stories, the answer appeared in the aptly titled Wealth Report column of the Wall Street Journal. Here’s why the megawealthy want high-class hookers:
> The most popular reason was “unique experiences” (71%), followed by “higher-quality experiences” (57%). Conventional wisdom says that the rich visit escorts to avoid messy breakups or extra demands for cash. But the study shows otherwise: “No strings attached” ranked last as a reason.
As they say in the service industry, enjoy.
(The theme of themes is in and of itself one of my least favorite things with food, but then again I’m pretty religious in my idealization of the whole process. To wit: Chicken is best eaten with your hands. When approaching pho, take the soup spoon in the left and grip the chopsticks with the right, or vice versa. The grand, non-negotiable order of the universe should be Champagne and shellfish first, then a Caesar and then your main course. Butcher-block paper on the tabletop is to be kept smooth, not curled up by arms and elbows, with doodling welcome. Most people do without the parenthetical graf and just say this is anal. Fine.)
I sent the story to the attention of the main Lefty Bistroan because I wondered whether people were so understimulated that they have to eat off naked people to get excited about something, or whether the guys on the business side were looking for a quick way to rack up the tabs. Then as I was gorging on Spitzer stories, the answer appeared in the aptly titled Wealth Report column of the Wall Street Journal. Here’s why the megawealthy want high-class hookers:
> The most popular reason was “unique experiences” (71%), followed by “higher-quality experiences” (57%). Conventional wisdom says that the rich visit escorts to avoid messy breakups or extra demands for cash. But the study shows otherwise: “No strings attached” ranked last as a reason.
As they say in the service industry, enjoy.
2/27/08
TJ's New Product Roundup
The past few months we've road-tested a few new products (or new to us) from Trader Joe's. A quick review:
* White bean hummus: It's a nice break from regular hummus, which is always in the Bistro fridge. But it comes topped with a cloying layer of olive oil and sun--dried tomatoes that's hard to avoid. Grade: C+
* Cherry-granola cookies: I used to be indifferent about dessert. Sure, a bite of ice cream or a biscotto would be nice, I would say, but do I need it? Nah. Until now. The cherry-granola cookies are crunchy and moist at the same time, an addictive balance of rich molasses and tart cherry chunks. Grade: A
* No-boil lasagna noodles: Finally. TJ's always carried other fresh pasta options, why not lasagna? Grade: B
* Fage Greek-style yogurt: Thick and creamy, just like I remember eating at a beachfront cafe on Santorini after sleeping all night on the beach. (Those were the days.) One slight difference: the lady of the Bistro demands no-fat, so we get the no-fat. Not nearly as rich, but the texture is about the same. Grade: B+
* White bean hummus: It's a nice break from regular hummus, which is always in the Bistro fridge. But it comes topped with a cloying layer of olive oil and sun--dried tomatoes that's hard to avoid. Grade: C+
* Cherry-granola cookies: I used to be indifferent about dessert. Sure, a bite of ice cream or a biscotto would be nice, I would say, but do I need it? Nah. Until now. The cherry-granola cookies are crunchy and moist at the same time, an addictive balance of rich molasses and tart cherry chunks. Grade: A
* No-boil lasagna noodles: Finally. TJ's always carried other fresh pasta options, why not lasagna? Grade: B
* Fage Greek-style yogurt: Thick and creamy, just like I remember eating at a beachfront cafe on Santorini after sleeping all night on the beach. (Those were the days.) One slight difference: the lady of the Bistro demands no-fat, so we get the no-fat. Not nearly as rich, but the texture is about the same. Grade: B+
2/26/08
The Audi Sportscar Food Experience
What do adrenaline-addled guys do after gunning 420-horsepower, all-wheel drive V-8 sport sedans around a Nascar track for three hours in the rain? Stop for lunch, of course.
Audi did it right: spice-crusted pork loin sliced to order, lightly roasted winter veggies like zucchini, eggplant, squash and red onion, baby greens with goat cheese, a little mashed potatoes -- nothing too heavy. We were all wide-eyed and wired from skidding around the turns and keeping up with the instructors in the lead car, so the five of us sat at a too-small table and shot the shit, taking breaks to eat. Dessert nibbles were mini chocolate-chip cookies and three kinds of brownie bites: coconut macaroon, white-chocolate frosting and double-decadent chocolate. A bit of kicking back with bottled water, and then back into the cars.
Buy me a drink and set the timer on, and I'll blab about this as much as you'll tolerate. Let me just say that if you look at the track graphic and check out turn 6, it's a bend that winds down seven stories, and the car can hug that like it's on rails. (9a is a chicane. Special transit-geek points if you know what that is.) The best feeling is when you pull off the track and Nico the born-in-France, raised-in-Brazil professional driver comes over and says you're up to speed.
Audi did it right: spice-crusted pork loin sliced to order, lightly roasted winter veggies like zucchini, eggplant, squash and red onion, baby greens with goat cheese, a little mashed potatoes -- nothing too heavy. We were all wide-eyed and wired from skidding around the turns and keeping up with the instructors in the lead car, so the five of us sat at a too-small table and shot the shit, taking breaks to eat. Dessert nibbles were mini chocolate-chip cookies and three kinds of brownie bites: coconut macaroon, white-chocolate frosting and double-decadent chocolate. A bit of kicking back with bottled water, and then back into the cars.Buy me a drink and set the timer on, and I'll blab about this as much as you'll tolerate. Let me just say that if you look at the track graphic and check out turn 6, it's a bend that winds down seven stories, and the car can hug that like it's on rails. (9a is a chicane. Special transit-geek points if you know what that is.) The best feeling is when you pull off the track and Nico the born-in-France, raised-in-Brazil professional driver comes over and says you're up to speed.
2/23/08
"Item! Been to 21 and Le Cirque?"
The Jackie Harveyish headline above is funny, because ... because I think it is, anyway. Raymond Sokolov's latest column in the Wall Street Journal, "Bay Watch," isn't funny, and not just because I think it isn't, but because it's plain crap writing that should have been spiked, yesterday or in 1998 or whenever.
Sokolov -- oops, sorry, he says "We" -- "didn't expect to be wowed at Aqua [...] where we had an acceptable lunch a few years back and remember it only as less boring than our dining companions." (Maybe one companion resisted the urge to say "Waiter? Bring me the lobster bisque so I can pour it down this guy's pants." "We'll" never know.) Then there's blah blah blah about venerable Aqua chef's "cutting-edge mix of militantly San Francisco foods," foie gras, abalone, pork belly, chanterelles, this and that. It's like dashing through Whole Foods! Maybe the Journal should send a reporter out shopping.
Skipping his bit about Ame, "an experiment in japonaiserie," the piece jumps to that hot new place, have you heard of it? Boulevard's emphasis is on "local ingredients and basic techniques with a twist." It's a very short graf, even with the deconstruction of the suckling pig from Manteca.
The East Bay vs. West Bay premise is tired and dorky, the "survival guide" approach is spurious except for those on expense accounts and the Wall Street Journal reveals itself, again, to be completely out of its element on this kind of coverage. Next time just call it Frisco so the rest of us can skip and enjoy Perbacco in peace.
Sokolov -- oops, sorry, he says "We" -- "didn't expect to be wowed at Aqua [...] where we had an acceptable lunch a few years back and remember it only as less boring than our dining companions." (Maybe one companion resisted the urge to say "Waiter? Bring me the lobster bisque so I can pour it down this guy's pants." "We'll" never know.) Then there's blah blah blah about venerable Aqua chef's "cutting-edge mix of militantly San Francisco foods," foie gras, abalone, pork belly, chanterelles, this and that. It's like dashing through Whole Foods! Maybe the Journal should send a reporter out shopping.
Skipping his bit about Ame, "an experiment in japonaiserie," the piece jumps to that hot new place, have you heard of it? Boulevard's emphasis is on "local ingredients and basic techniques with a twist." It's a very short graf, even with the deconstruction of the suckling pig from Manteca.
The East Bay vs. West Bay premise is tired and dorky, the "survival guide" approach is spurious except for those on expense accounts and the Wall Street Journal reveals itself, again, to be completely out of its element on this kind of coverage. Next time just call it Frisco so the rest of us can skip and enjoy Perbacco in peace.
2/22/08
You Call it Heparin, I Call it Sausage
The tainted heparin (blood-thinner) from pharma company Baxter has everyone in a tizzy. The WSJ sent a reporter to a heparin-extraction plant in China. Source material: pig intestines. And as one photo caption in this series explains, what doesn't turn into heparin is saved for sausage casings.
The captions say the stuff coming out of the intestines is "pulp." Is that a typo? Shouldn't it be "poop"?
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