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Posts from the ‘Textual Selfie’ Category

When Taco Salad Won’t Do

Taco salad My June/July Taste of Home couldn’t have come at a more fortuitous time. A chunk of family I rarely see (aunt, uncle, cousins, grandma—ok, I did see her last year) will be visiting over Memorial Day weekend. I suggested they come out to Brooklyn Sunday afternoon since it seems like it would be easier just to cook than to deal with a large group in a neighborhood that's not big on taking reservations (Lucali would be ideal but I can't even subject myself to that nightly pileup) and offers little more than Italian-American food (I already acquiesced on Little Italy for Thursday!) within a reasonable walking distance for car people.

Not everyone has relatives that would enjoy Jean Georges, Scarpetta, Pulino's, The Modern or wherever else it is that blogs and magazines often recommend you take adult out-of-towners. Two-starred as of a few minutes ago, Prime Meats, is the closest restaurant to my apartment but cramped, two-hour-wait eateries staffed by "a crew of handsome men and women dressed as if ready to ride horses back home to Bushwick, where they trap beaver and make their own candles" just isn't going to fly even with these visitors from The Beaver State.

But now I am mildly, only mildly, concerned because I know when people say “oh, I’ll eat anything” that is absolutely untrue. And frankly, I have no idea what this crew likes to eat. You never know what will give someone pause. In the past it has been cilantro and banh xeo (I know, I know, but it’s just an omelet filled with vegetables and meat). I am not saying they are yokels. One West Coast peculiarity is an affinity for wine even if you’re not a foodie type—they are bringing wine from a friend’s vineyard—but American flavors are probably a safer bet, cuisine-wise. I will temper my love of the fishy, fermented and mouth-burning.

And this is where I look to Taste of Home for guidance. So, what does America like to eat? I’m baffled by a taco salad recipe that is to-the-letter what we’d eat on a regular basis 25 years ago, the only difference being something called Western dressing instead of Catalina (I thought that maybe they were the same, but I’ve been schooled). I only turn into a food snob when I think about things like taco salad–Americans should not be eating like this still.

A search for taco salad on the Taste of Home site brings up 176 results, including a taco salad waffle, tater tot taco salad and the pictured patriotic taco salad. Readers undeniably score high marks for creativity.

Amidst the enchilada lasagna and chiles rellenos casserole, there is also a recipe for flour tortillas. Impressive, and more labor-intensive than I would expect from a weeknight cook. On the other hand, there’s nothing remotely spicy about the Thai chicken salad, all full of sesame-ginger dressing, peanut sauce and chow mein noodles.

I also couldn’t ignore the Cooking for Grandma contest featuring a 10-year-old boy who loves to fry (doughnuts and fried pickles are his two specialties). He came up with a recipe for Mexican ice cream (vanilla rolled in crushed cornflakes, sugar, cinnamon and honey). What’s up with all the Mexican-ish flair?

I almost went down that vague path myself; the grilled leg of lamb with ancho chile marinade in the new Bon Appetit jumped out at me (yes, I quickly eschewed Taste of Home for Bon Appetit). But lamb? Not always a crowd-pleaser. Ancho powder seems benign, as well, but who's to say.

Tunisian chile sauce is no one’s taste of home either, but I am leaning toward the harissa-marinated top sirloin tips from the same issue. Everyone loves steak, right? Well, they’re going to, dammit. Now, I just need a few sides that don’t involve cream cheese.

The Pork Highway

Random—this was just decided Monday—but I’m off to Puerto Rico tomorrow morning. I’ve never been, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, though I hope to explore the mythical “La Ruta del Lechon.” Four days of pork! And rum?

Artichoking Up

Artichokes I'm still trying to figure out what Bon Appetit is good for, it melds with Food & Wine in my brain and I only willingly subscribed to the latter. So far it has served as memory dredger.

My attitude toward mayonnaise has softened with age. It does have a place in the kitchen and I'm able to eat it as long as I can't see it oozing out from under a slice of bread or a bun like a white lava flow. But I'd completely blocked out the source of my mayonnaise aversion until I saw the photo of an artichoke with bagna cauda in this month's Bon Appetit (written by a Portlander). Steamed artichokes!

There was a spell in the late '70s right after we'd located from the Bay Area to Portland when that my aunt who'd dropped out of high school and was working at Winchell's was staying with us. There couldn't have been too much of a rift in the family because around this same time her parents, my grandparents, lived in our yard in an RV (nomadism is very much in our genes—last year my sister and husband were living in a recreational vehicle in Springfield).

One night, this aunt was babysitting my sister and me and made steamed artichokes with mayonnaise. That seems impossibly sophisticated now (this is the same aunt who was in the ER last week due to an Atkins fudge overdose) which isn't a knock on my family’s taste, but let’s just say that frozen Salisbury steak and canned creamed corn were the types of thing my dad would make for dinner when my mom worked nights (graveyard shift, which sounded ominous). Perhaps artichokes and dip were a mainstream edible of the era that seemed fancier than it was like green goddess dressing.

Even though I couldn't have been more than four years old, I thought this was a delicious snack…until I got the barfs. I couldn't look at mayonnaise the same way again. These things stay with you. Also during preschool years, I refused to eat a bologna sandwich with mayonnaise while sitting with my mom underneath a giant curved half-circle jungle gym. I was convinced the barkdust we were sitting on had gotten into the sandwich.

Now, I'm sounding very neurotic because after throwing up at the Rose Festival Fun Center (believe me, there is nothing less fun) after church with the smell of wet barkdust and corndogs in the air, I've never liked either. In fact, on the way to the gym where I was reading this Bon Appetit, I passed by a few trees surrounded by freshly rained on mulch (they don't call it barkdust in NYC) and had carny flashbacks.

Winter Break

Heading to Bangkok, Hua Hin and Penang for the next two weeks. It's doubtful any blogging will occur until I get back.

Thanks for Nothing

Sushisamba Part of me wishes I were in town for Thanksgiving because I'd like to try a fancy restaurant dinner this year, Eleven Madison Park maybe, but no matter.

Here are some non-traditional side dishes from restaurants around the city that I wrote about for Metromix.

Photo by Jori Klein Jacobs

Hamburger Helper

Thrifted cookbooks from oregon

There’s nothing stopping me from used book shopping in New York, I’ve just never been fond of the experience here. There’s just no thrill of the hunt. I’ve never understood the big deal with The Strand, and of course for cookbooks one could go to Bonnie Slotnick’s, no hunting and pecking necessary. Housing Works doesn’t even count as a thrift store.

I only buy new books on Amazon anymore when in my younger days I scoured for used periodicals and books on a weekly basis. As much as I like ripping on Portland, the city is rife with book buying opportunities and that hasn’t changed. I don’t necessarily mean at well-curated stores like Powell’s (I did pick up Indonesian Cookery written by a Brooklyn Public librarian in 1963 at Powell’s Books for Cooks, though).

I mean junky discarded books at skuzzy thrift stores in places like Gladstone, Gresham and along 82nd Street. The uncollectables. And being in Oregon over Labor Day weekend, half-price sales abounded. I ended up having to have my mom mail my bounty along, just like she has been periodically doing with the boxes of books I left behind over 11 years ago.

This ungainly set of books includes:
Better Homes and Gardens After Work Cook Book, 1974
Better Homes and Gardens Meat Cook Book, 1971
Better Homes and Gardens Shortcut Main Dishes, 1986
Better Homes and Gardens All-Time Favorite Hamburger & Ground Meats Recipes, 1980
Indonesian Cookery, 1963
The Fine Art of Chinese Cooking, 1962
Sunset Adventures in Food, 1984
Time Life The Cooking of India, 1975
Fondue: The Fine Art of Fondue Chinese Wok and Chafing Dish Cooking, 1969

I used to be drawn to mid-century cookbooks and pamphlets, mostly for the line drawings and highly saturated color photos.  Nothing newer than 1969 entered my apartment. But more and more I’m pulled toward cookbooks from the ‘70s and ‘80s, eras when I was actually alive. I’m still on the fence about the ‘90s; they need to simmer a little more before their charms are revealed. A friend recently gave me a 1996 copy of Food Wrap, about packaging design. It’s dated for sure, but most of the products look like things you still see in stores. It needs at least another five years.

The thin hardback Better Homes and Gardens series have been cranked out of years. I have a slew of cutely nostalgic ones from 40 years ago. The late 20th century examples, however, are kind of grotesque, possibly because they showcase the kind of food I grew up with. I think I owe my mom an apology. I hated her cooking when I was a kid, my sister and I made no bones about it, but now that I’m looking at these books with recipes like canned corned beef stroganoff and pizza-style meatloaf, I realize she wasn’t pulling those hideous ground beef, green pepper and Catalina dressing monstrosities out of her ass. I’m sure the women’s magazines of the day were filled with these well-intended family feeders, as well. God, what will today’s children be complaining about in 2039? All the wretched truffle-oiled mac and cheese and chipotle-laden, organic pork burritos they were forced to endure?

The more blog-consumed I become, the more I neglect my old print favorites. I’ve been wanting to cook through my cookbooks for ages, gross recipes or not. And just as how I’ve grown to embrace chain restaurants, I’m thinking about tackling the ugly eras first. I’ll never learn to love stuffed green peppers, though.

Just Chill

Cholado

Photo from Metromix

Ok, I'm breaking my August silence to mention a story I have on Metromix about oddball frosty treats in NYC. It's hot enough today to warrant them.  I could even ignore my self-imposed sugar-free mandate for a Colombian cholado about now.

Bittersweet Memories

Vivahate I must admit that I've never gotten fancier than using Stirrings blood orange bitters at home, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the handiwork of others. Pay a visit to my Metromix piece about  bars around town using unusual bitters.

Does Django records in Portland still exist? I think not, though I guess I'll find out soon enough. In the late '80s, the white plastic record divider for the Morrissey section had "he's bitter" written in the same hand as the one-name heading, just below the jump. Someone else had scrawled, "you're stupid" underneath that phrase. Whenever I'd flip through the vinyl, which was frequently, the "you're stupid" got under my skin. Though now, thinking back, the "he's bitter" was the unneccesary commentary. There's nothing wrong with being bitter.

Crustacean Nation

If you ever wanted to know where to find hard shell crab around the city (soft-shells are a different story and much easier to obtain), here is my new piece on Metromix.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to plan a low key birthday party and wish I hadn't already used Clemente's Maryland Crab House two years ago because I hate repeating myself.

Bizarro World

Write what you know? How about write what you hate? It’s not really fair to say you don’t like something if you haven’t even done it, but sometimes scorn is contagious and irresistible. At least to me. So, this Saturday I vowed to be open minded and actually experience popular food-related activities before making any judgments. Opposite Day wasn’t really that painful.

Brunching and trying Stumptown coffee would be easy to accomplish at the same time in 11231. I feel like I cheated a little bit because instead of heading into the maw of the beast, a.k.a. Smith Street, or just walking the three blocks to Prime Meats, we drove to Kevin’s in Red Hook. A true Opposite Day would involve biking the short distance but procuring a new means of transport was too much on short notice. Oh, if I were doing this full force I would’ve found a venue with sidewalk seating, that’s the worst. I’ll sit in a backyard if it’s not crazy hot and humid but there’s nothing less appetizing than dining all exposed on an NYC sidewalk.

Kevin's stumptown coffee

 Kevin’s was suspiciously mellow, just a few occupied tables, a same sex couple, single diners, not a stroller in sight, completely trauma-free. I never ever go out to breakfast or brunch because I don’t like getting up early, and yes, to me being somewhere at noon is getting up early. If I truly wanted to experience what I think I loathe I would’ve woken up around 8am and walked a dog, gone for a run and/or bike ride. None of those things will ever happen (I’ll jog, but only indoors). Other non-food related activities that are likely to never happen: yoga, mani/pedi, paying to have my laundry done and bikini waxing.

Kevin's bacon cheese omelet

A rich cheddar cheese and bacon-filled omelet was just what I needed. The bacon was soft and fatty, which I prefer, but if you like crunchy doneness you might be disappointed. The toast was buttered within an inch of its life, soaked through and through.  The potatoes were ok, though I’d like a little more char on the edges. I would never cook food like this for myself in the morning, but I do appreciate the break from my dull weekday packet of oatmeal or Kashi bar.

Me drinking stumptownI’m by no means a coffee connoisseur, despite how it may appear Northwesterners are not born with an exacting coffee palate, I drink a pre-ground brew from Trader Joe’s. I was expecting this coffee to be stronger, however it was subtle, low in acidity and very smooth. I wouldn’t say there was anything unique about the coffee but the large pot for $5 seemed fair. It turns out I don’t really have any problems with Stumptown or brunch as long as they are consumed a non-populous neighborhood.

 Greenmarket groceries

Next stop, the Grand Army Plaza greenmarket. Rationally, I don’t issues with fresh produce and meat from humanely raised animals. I just don’t like crowds and I happen to be very cheap. For a little over $30 I picked up random odds and ends that included: pea shoots, snap peas, sourdough bread, Cato Corner Farm Hooligan cheese, half a dozen eggs, half a chicken, mesclun, peppermint. It was ok, and definitely didn’t kill me but I doubt I’ll be back any time soon. I am trying to look happy in my photo but I'm not sure if I'm succeeding.

Pretending to like greenmarket

My original plan was to go to Hapa Kitchen at BKLYN Yard, which is completely walkable from my apartment. Asian female food bloggers cooking greenmarket sourced food, the Treats Truck and DJs? Can it get any more Brooklyn? No. And I took a pass.

I fully embraced the speakeasy experience, though. Well, sort of. I think I was probably cheating again because I went to Dutch Kills, in the still no-man’s-land of Long Island City. Oh, and at 8pm so there were only two other groups of people and everything was running smoothly, lots of personal attention.

Dutch kills water lily

First I tried one of the chalkboard specials, the Water Lily. I will always try something using Crème de Violet, partially because I like the pretty lavender hue (which this didn’t have). The main liquor was gin and I think there was also Lillet and lemon involved.

Dutch kills pendennis club

Next, I asked for something citrusy (I prefer sour over sweet drinks) that uses Peychaud’s Bitters and was given a Pendennis Club, a riff on the Pegu Club that was made from lime juice, gin, apricot brandy, bitters and sugar syrup. It certainly looked girly with its rosy hue but the bitters keep the drink from heading into Sweet Tarts candy territory.

Dutch kills silver lining

One more, I requested, “something like a whisky sour” and received my favorite of the night, a Silver Lining (rye, Licor 43, lemon juice, egg white and club soda). I love frothy egg white-topped drinks and the fruity-vanilla flavor of the Licor 43 was soft and creamy. I don’t know why vanilla, like pineapple or coconut, seem to make a cocktail seem trashy, there’s nothing wrong with any of those ingredients if they’re balanced. You never see a sophisticated bar using coconut or pineapple, though. Maybe I should ask, or better yet insist on Kahlua, and see what kind of reaction I’d get. (Ok, weird, a New York Times article on coconut cocktails just showed up in my feeds.) Here’s a Silver Lining recipe if you want to try one at home.

I can deal with $9 non-crappy cocktails, the going rate at Dutch Kills, because you can experiment a bit. Yes, they’re all dead serious about the ice cubes, the foam, the pomaded hair and dress suspenders, and old-timey vibe…and it didn’t bother me in the least. It might’ve though if I was paying $12+ and had to wait in line to get in. Go Queens!

Er, or not. After 10pm Opposite Day went off the rails. I took it upon myself to check out the new 18,000 square foot beer garden, Studio Square, in the same general area. This wasn’t Opposite Day material because I would drink beer and eat pretzels outdoors with no prompting. Yet, I was shocked at the mob scene and gruesome clientele. Maybe I’d spent too much time in the rarified dark woody interior of Dutch Kills, but yeah, this was a serious Queensy crowd, tanned, loud and in their twenties. The only bust of the day. I waited the snaking line to use the bathroom, then we left.

Jollibee aloha burger

Starving after three cocktails on a now-empty stomach that hadn’t seen a thing since brunch ten hours earlier, food was a must. Roosevelt Avenue is a treasure trove but a startling number of restaurants close by 11pm. I started getting panicky and cranky, very much Normal Day not Opposite Day. James wanted to try Jollibee, but they were closing in ten minutes so he ran in and got two Aloha burgers to go. These we saved for Sunday. Now it’s Sunday and I’ve eaten mine (no, I'm not bothered by day-old fast food) so I can say that yes, I do love a pineapple ring on a cheeseburger. Pineapple seems to be a running theme.

Donovan's cheeseburger

Still with burgers in mind, we knew bars would still be serving food and headed up to the Irish part of Woodside and got a pint of Bass and an always awesome cheeseburger at Donovan’s. I hate steak fries, Opposite Day won’t change that, but the medium-rare burger was juicy and perfect with a gril-marked bun and two just-beginning-to-melt slices of American cheese on top and bottom. Donovan’s totally saved the night.