Easter Every Day
Apparently, in Switzerland eggs come in a rainbow of colors for no particular reason. In a bold, slightly off-kilter palette too.
Posts from the ‘Color Me Bad’ Category
Oct 14
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Napa Valley Sunday
The San Francisco trip was semi-impromptu so securing a French Laundry reservation just wasn’t going to happen. Besides, I’m not a “people who have BMWs or are looking at BMWs”.
After a few winery pit stops (photographic evidence) we did poke around Yountville and ate at Bouchon, instead. I didn’t feel inclined to blog my meal because I wrote about the Las Vegas location before, and I’ve been trying to wean myself from the practice. It’s like smoking; I technically quit in 2003 but you might see a cigarette in my hand a couple times a week.
However, I did photograph macarons from Bouchon Bakery. I could really take or leave the cupcake of the foodie world. It’s just a cookie, but I’m a sucker for rainbow hues.
And the blueberry wasn’t just pretty to look at—there’s no way the interior shade of azure is naturally derived—the texture and flavor was dazzling. Only a white cream layer is obvious at first glance, but there’s also a swipe of deep blue chunky jam in the center of the substantial macaron. The pistachio one was fine, but couldn’t compare to the boldness of the blueberry.
I’ve never been to the Napa Valley, and wasn’t sure what to expect. Yountville, a mini neighborhood constructed around the presence of the French Laundry, was peculiar in its manufactured quality. I wouldn’t say Disneyfied, if only because I loathe that shorthand, but intentional despite its nothingness like an outlet mall planted off a highway exit, a far flung Ikea on a street called Ikea Lane. It felt about 12 blocks long, which is about right if you look at the patch on a map.
The rebellious suburbanite in me wanted to wreak havoc on the pseudo tiny town. For one, I couldn’t figure out how French Laundry’s garden, directly across the street from the storied restaurant, could be open to the public without people snatching produce. What’s to keep someone from pocketing a souvenir Jerusalem artichoke? “That’s so Brooklyn” James chided, even though he had the same thought. Humans are not that good. If they’re stealing serving vessels from Alinea, plundering gardens is a step down.
Greenhouse tomatoes and herbs begging to be picked.
Melons being my most loathed food, it took restraint to not bop one of these cantaloupes lazing under foliage on its webby noggin.
After a charcuterie plate, black cod and lobster with accoutrements that reminded me a lot of this tete de cochon from Eleven Madison Park, a cheese course including a Fleur du Maquis that tasted like pee-soaked hay (not saying that’s a bad thing) and a few glasses of un-California riesling—oh, and a sherry—we set out to explore Yountvile after dark.
I rest secure knowing that while it’s not something I’d do in NYC, I appreciate that public libraries exist everywhere. When I get older and move away to become more hermitty, I’ll always be able to find work traumatizing the community from behind a reference desk. I wonder what kind of patrons use the Yountville public library?
If you cross back over the main entry road from highway 29, the neighborhood tapers off into trees and half-standing houses in mid-construction. The bad part of town? That’s where you could sneak off and get high if you were a teen. I wanted to nose around the new development but a security guard was on patrol.
Instead, we trespassed into the over 55 community. As someone who’s trying to escape the stroller-and-toy hegemony that plagues the foyers of every shared building in Brooklyn, I’ve come to the conclusion that the only place I could live in orderly peace would be in a complex of empty nesters.
And apparently, Rancho de Napa is a “grape place to live.” What I love about the west coast is the normalcy of trailer parks. I’ve spent much time in mobile homes of various family members over the years. It’s not trashy, it’s thrifty. And this collection was comprised of more polite manufactured homes, many tricked out with multiple stories, showy panels of windows and manicured yards. It was dark, however, and I didn’t want to use a flash lest we get run out of town. On a Sunday around 8pm, the whole village was practically in bed anyway, BMW-less visitors heading back from whence they came.
To Dye For
At first I was excited to hear about blue mozzarella like it a new hybrid. But no, just tainted product, (and more creepy than cool).
Rainbow bacon, however, is a reality. I’m happy to see the full color spectrum being applied to meat and not just the usual sweet suspects. Who says cupcakes and macarons should have all the fun? [Bacon Today via Consumerist]
Photo from Bacon Today
Eco-Unfriendly Green
Balance in everything. I love genuine greens—collards, kale, cabbage—as much as artificial greens. It’s always been my favorite color. In fact, when I was young, pre-preschool young, putting green food coloring in my milk, served in a mini A&W root beer mug, was the only way my mom could get me to drink the dairy product.
In the US, green dye usually denotes mint (urgh) or lime (ok) and occasionally green apple or kiwi. I loved that in SE Asia green baked goods and drinks almost always denoted pandan (like the buns below) or green tea (as in the roll cake). Quickly shot on a hotel bed, these two aren’t showcasing their optimal greenness.
Allow me to salute St. Patrick with a few random photos of unnaturally green foodstuffs.
Green eggs ‘n’ spam soba from IOjaw on Flickr
Cendol from Rasa Malaysia (waah, one of the only things on my to-eat-in-Penang list that I didn’t get around to)
I Am Baker via Serious Eats
Green pandan bread from JY’s Baking Jornals
Ice cream Jello from The Food Librarian
Caribbean Blues
I’ve always had a thing for blue food—from the natural: soft blue cheese, to the invented: blue velvet cake, to exotica: Malaysian nasi kerabu.
That’s why I was excited to hear about the blue food festival in Tobogo that happened this past Sunday. In my experience taro (which they call dasheen) really creates a more grayish mauvey blue, like how most Aviation cocktails turn out (though Rob Cooper’s—the man responsible for the St. Germain blitz of ’08–new more vividly violet Crème d’Yvette might just perk up the drink’s visual impact).
The only examples I’ve found of food from this Caribbean festival aren’t really blue at all, though the rundown on this blog is charmingly Bubba Gump-esque, “dasheen cheesecake, dasheen pizza, dasheen chicken with dasheen dip, dasheen ice cream, dasheen chips and cookies, dasheen pies, dasheen sweetbread and dasheen bread.”
That’s a lot of dasheen.
Caught Between the Mooncake and New York City
These unnaturally colored mooncakes exemplify why I love places like Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Hong Kong. They’re not afraid to experiment with food, and I don’t mean in a molecular gastronomy way. Both of my visits to the region happened to fall during mooncake season and I was amazed each time by the number of modern varieties. New York’s Chinatowns are still firmly entrenched in the traditional baked red bean cakes not these rainbow hued “snow skin” types.
Of course tradition has its place. But I don’t think that quality ingredients and crazy presentations need be mutually exclusive. I think much of the reason why I can’t get excited about local, sustainable, organic or whatever, is because while possibly tasty, it’s not very fun. Or maybe pristine produce and small producers just doesn’t rev me up. Novelty impresses me, I’m afraid.
I have no idea how this particular Chinese chef created his gummi bear and lavender flavored mooncakes or achieved those shades of pink and blue. Probably not naturally–is that a problem? It doesn’t bother me, but I’m also fine with fake green pistachio gelato, red velvet cake…and even Velveeta.
Blue’s Clues
Maybe I’ve been watching too much too much HGTV because this weekend I decided to get into the open house game. Just what sort of stuff is selling in my neighborhood, anyway?
Apparently, scary stuff. I now know that $1.6 mil will get you a stuccoed townhouse with security cameras, next to a junk yard on a dead end warehouse-centric street that dead-ends at the Gowanus canal. There might also be a scary pit bull in the paved-over backyard, a one-armed realtor, carpeted floor-to-ceiling columns, Jacuzzi tub, metallic flower vase sculpted to look like two guns and lots of vitamins and protein powder on the counters of the most overwhelmingly glossy blue kitchen you could ever imagine.
I’ve lamented for years about the lack of color in American kitchens (and the abuse of travertine and granite). Even though you wouldn’t know if from my current mishmash apartment décor, I’m obsessed with everything green (despite having little interest in the Upper East Side or Italian food, I’m smitten with the color scheme at new restaurant, Alloro, and might have to pay a visit just to see the unbelievable greenness in person) and fantasize about the day I can apply the emerald hue in a serious way.
So, I have to admire the homeowners’ dedication to a single color (and I know the brand must’ve cost a pretty penny) but this abomination makes me question my own taste a bit. However, this blue kitchen renews my faith some.
And the pseudo-serious house hunt continues.
Who Knew Cake Was Seasonal?
Yes, I was confused by the “Nothing Says Summer Like Icing” headline in today’s dining section, but then the Times always makes declarative statements that mean nothing to me.
I guess cakes can be summer food if you want them to be, but the paper is going to have an awfully hard time convincing me that twentysomethings making $60,000 a year are struggling.
I do love a layer cake, though. And the more garish, the better.
Someone Just Fell Off the Turnip Truck
Purple carrots and blue potatoes are hardly a new story (rainbow produce was new to me six years ago and I’m sure it wasn’t new then) and mildly strange for the Wall Street Journal treatment, but unnaturally colored food is one of my passions, so I’ll admit that their slideshow is fun to watch.
Recently, I noticed that they even have bright orange cauliflower at crazy cheap Rossman Farms, my go to conventionally grown produce (and Sabra hummus) source. They also have rainbow chard at Fairway. Vibrantly hued vegetables are now totally mainstream it seems.
Gatorade+Snapple+Alize=Awesome
You know enough is enough when even Evite gets into the food blogging business. Um, but that doesn’t mean I won’t click on photos of bright red, white and blue cocktails. And sweet jesus, imagine my surprise when I found out the classy beverages didn’t just include Snapple, Gatorade and Alize, but Roland wildberry cherries, too.
Every time I’m at the Shop Rite in Linden, NJ (which is more often than I’d care to admit) I ogle all the neon hued jarred cherries above the ice cream freezer. Finally, I broke down a few months ago and bought the damn blue ones because I’m soft-minded when it comes to edibles in abnormal colors. It’s not like I’ve eaten any—they’re just sitting on a makeshift bar waiting for the opportunity.
I’ve been dying to try Rothman & Winter’s sort of recently released Crème de Violette, primarily so I can make an aviation and then sully the lavender beauty with a turquoise cherry. In the mean time I might have to settle for the Big Blue Buzz. Aw, who needs homemade sarsaparilla and artisanal tonic water, anyway? The whole neo-pre-prohibition era cocktail trend is so 2007. Evite knows 2008 is about food coloring and artificial flavors.
