My previous visits to Mas in Charlottesville have all been exercises in controlled gluttony. You finish your meal realizing you have eaten perhaps double what you should have, but the food has been so good that the satiation feels grand.
Tonight, it was just the kid and me.
We scraped into the parking lot behind Mas with barely an hour to spare before The Avett Brothers concert. The wait was far too long, but the hostess had a bench with a not-really-table table that she could spare. Next thing you know, she is asking the kid which kind of juice soda she wants and what beer I want, and we're settling in at the nook in the corner. Not exactly perfect planning, but things were working out.
The kid was tired and distracted, but we covered the menu and put orders in. Anchovies, spinach and manchego salad, hummus, lamb sausage, and empanada with Caremont chevre. The dishes came out with remarkable speed, particularly considering how busy the restaurant was.
The kid tried the anchovies; she wasn't sure about them, but it was a start. She liked the hummus though it was a tad spicy. The spinach salad? She hated the dressing. Hated it. One of the servers stopped by, and I took a step I rarely take which was to say that the salad wasn't to her liking. Next thing we know a comped spinach salad with oil and vinegar arrives. She wolfed it down, and minutes later we were paying the tab to get to the show.
How were my dishes? Terrific. The empanada with Caremont chevre, jalapenos and applewood smoked ham chunks was delicious. The merguez with a habanero-cider chutney was delicious. The anchovies were as delicate as they could be. And I could only finish the empanada. As I told the excellent hostess, one of these days I will remember to order half of what I want to order.
The real win there wasn't the food, however, it was the service. They took care of us in ways that will be sure to bring me back.
Kudos.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Restoration and Maine
I'm sitting in our house listening to the after-effects of Hurricane Irene. She turned inland earlier, and we are now getting the windy side. The house sounds like a subway as the train is coming into the station. Earlier, we had an old maple come down next to the house, and when I say next to the house, I mean that it is touching the house. And it's a big tree. The kid woke up and wouldn't go back to bed for a while.
After a summer of relationship and PTSD hell, tons of transitions and personal learning, and a week of earthquakes and a hurricane that almost scuttled our trip up here, I am about ready for some respite. Some sense of moving forward. Cooking again. Talking about beer, literature, and whatever else seems cool again. New music. Time with the kid. New horizons, and maybe a trip or two this fall. Certainly, there is a puppy on the horizon, and that's as much of a new start as anyone could ask for.
In any case, Maine. I have a love-hate relationship with our history up here. As the youngest of eight grandchildren in an old New England family, warmth isn't exactly the first word I'd use when describing my memories of summers up here. Nonetheless, it's one of the places I know best and one of the places that has been most restorative at times in my life. Driving up from Boston yesterday after we had flown out just ahead of the hurricane, I spent a great deal of time remembering my visits here over the years — the food, the music, the beer, the company, the quiet moments, the joyful moments introducing the place to people. I remembered it in part because I had only ever been up here this late in the season once, 20 years ago, when I last experienced a hurricane.
More than that, the memories came at me because so much has happened this year, and because I am doing so much rebuilding. And this is a place that has allowed me those moments in the past. When we got here, I opened a Geary's Ale and watched my mother and the kid make crab cakes with the local peeky-toe crab meat. It's a delicate meat that has a softer, less buttery flavor than the backfin crab meat we get in Virginia. But in the past, taking over the preparation of the crab cakes and corn would have been my purview. This time, however, I was happy to sit back and watch grandmother and grand-daughter work as a team. Not only did it mean I got to relax after a long day, but it was a reminder that sometimes we can let other people do what they do well.
Even if I had an opinion about a touch of this or a touch of that in the crab cakes, the moment wasn't about control. It was perfect as is. And the food was perfect when we ate the corn, crab cakes, and local leaf lettuce (something we miss in VA right now) and tomato salad. Letting life be perfect and happy as-is (but with potential for greatness) is something I'm trying to remember as part of this rebuilding.
After a summer of relationship and PTSD hell, tons of transitions and personal learning, and a week of earthquakes and a hurricane that almost scuttled our trip up here, I am about ready for some respite. Some sense of moving forward. Cooking again. Talking about beer, literature, and whatever else seems cool again. New music. Time with the kid. New horizons, and maybe a trip or two this fall. Certainly, there is a puppy on the horizon, and that's as much of a new start as anyone could ask for.
In any case, Maine. I have a love-hate relationship with our history up here. As the youngest of eight grandchildren in an old New England family, warmth isn't exactly the first word I'd use when describing my memories of summers up here. Nonetheless, it's one of the places I know best and one of the places that has been most restorative at times in my life. Driving up from Boston yesterday after we had flown out just ahead of the hurricane, I spent a great deal of time remembering my visits here over the years — the food, the music, the beer, the company, the quiet moments, the joyful moments introducing the place to people. I remembered it in part because I had only ever been up here this late in the season once, 20 years ago, when I last experienced a hurricane.
More than that, the memories came at me because so much has happened this year, and because I am doing so much rebuilding. And this is a place that has allowed me those moments in the past. When we got here, I opened a Geary's Ale and watched my mother and the kid make crab cakes with the local peeky-toe crab meat. It's a delicate meat that has a softer, less buttery flavor than the backfin crab meat we get in Virginia. But in the past, taking over the preparation of the crab cakes and corn would have been my purview. This time, however, I was happy to sit back and watch grandmother and grand-daughter work as a team. Not only did it mean I got to relax after a long day, but it was a reminder that sometimes we can let other people do what they do well.
Even if I had an opinion about a touch of this or a touch of that in the crab cakes, the moment wasn't about control. It was perfect as is. And the food was perfect when we ate the corn, crab cakes, and local leaf lettuce (something we miss in VA right now) and tomato salad. Letting life be perfect and happy as-is (but with potential for greatness) is something I'm trying to remember as part of this rebuilding.
Monday, August 01, 2011
Culinary therapy, pt. 2
This past Sunday, I invited one of my business partners over for a grilling session. It is the first time I've really had anyone over since the meltdown in June, and it's appropriate that it was him.
First off, his girlfriend has recently returned to Boston for job reasons, and they are splitting their time between the cities. Not exactly fun, but sometimes you do what you have to. Regardless, I know a thing or two about feeling at loose ends and not necessarily wanting to eat — one of our most important social activities — alone. Since the kid was spending an extra night with her mom, I was feeling a bit at loose ends too. The thing is I didn't want to go out or order in — or eat another frozen pizza or other pre-prepared meal. No. I wanted to reacquaint myself with the kitchen. And, second, we have some bizarre Boston connections.
The day before I had picked up spicy lamb sausage from Tuckahoe Farms at the South of the James Market, as well as some beautiful heirloom tomatoes and peaches. Kevin added corn, greek feta and a few good beers. Except for the salad, we threw everything on a perfectly searing grill. The corn was prepped with olive oil and coarse ground sea salt and black pepper. The peaches were prepped with balsamic and some fleur de sel.
I need to get better about taking pictures, like some of my fellow bloggers, however, because every part of the meal came off perfectly. Throw a good conversation into the bargain, and you have the beginning of a return to civility and sanity.
First off, his girlfriend has recently returned to Boston for job reasons, and they are splitting their time between the cities. Not exactly fun, but sometimes you do what you have to. Regardless, I know a thing or two about feeling at loose ends and not necessarily wanting to eat — one of our most important social activities — alone. Since the kid was spending an extra night with her mom, I was feeling a bit at loose ends too. The thing is I didn't want to go out or order in — or eat another frozen pizza or other pre-prepared meal. No. I wanted to reacquaint myself with the kitchen. And, second, we have some bizarre Boston connections.
The day before I had picked up spicy lamb sausage from Tuckahoe Farms at the South of the James Market, as well as some beautiful heirloom tomatoes and peaches. Kevin added corn, greek feta and a few good beers. Except for the salad, we threw everything on a perfectly searing grill. The corn was prepped with olive oil and coarse ground sea salt and black pepper. The peaches were prepped with balsamic and some fleur de sel.
I need to get better about taking pictures, like some of my fellow bloggers, however, because every part of the meal came off perfectly. Throw a good conversation into the bargain, and you have the beginning of a return to civility and sanity.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Catching up, sort of
For the record, I really want to write a post about different hops, malts, yeasts, and all the other random cool facts I've been learning lately. But that requires time. Time that I don't seem to have. In the meantime, I'll lean back a little more toward food.
As any regular or occasional reader of this blog knows, I like to push the locavore idea. A lot. But as I will quietly (and guiltily) admit, I am not always great at following my own advice when it comes to sticking to local production and seasonality. In fact, as I look back at what I purchase and cook and consume, I follow the seasonal doctrine far less than it seems like I should. Truth is, I just haven't found the balance between what I want to have around and what is available. And I'm lousy at preserving things for use out of season.
Since market season is kicking in around here, my pledge is this: to the best of my ability, produce that we prepare over the next several months (and perhaps longer) will be grown in season and locally when possible. My inspiration for this has been the kale and carrots I've purchased over the past couple of weeks. They reminded me what it was like to have food that had real flavor and real connection to soil near us. The next impetus was actually working on a friend's farm (more on this in another post); I hope to do this more in coming weeks and have a better appreciation for what connects us to what sustains us. The final push was using a rutabaga in tonight's red curry. It was a last minute whim, and one I'm glad for. The flavor was delicious, and it was nice to take a step or two out of my box. Moreover, it was good to see the kid eat it and enjoy it.
So... if I can be good about it... and find the time amidst work, parenting, trying to start a business, and life in general... stay tuned for a balance between posts about beer and posts about seasonal eating and connections to where and how food is grown in the region. Hell, maybe I'll even get into canning and pickling. If all goes well, this may even connect to how the ingredients for beer can be produced locally. So, yeah... stay tuned.
Cheers!
As any regular or occasional reader of this blog knows, I like to push the locavore idea. A lot. But as I will quietly (and guiltily) admit, I am not always great at following my own advice when it comes to sticking to local production and seasonality. In fact, as I look back at what I purchase and cook and consume, I follow the seasonal doctrine far less than it seems like I should. Truth is, I just haven't found the balance between what I want to have around and what is available. And I'm lousy at preserving things for use out of season.
Since market season is kicking in around here, my pledge is this: to the best of my ability, produce that we prepare over the next several months (and perhaps longer) will be grown in season and locally when possible. My inspiration for this has been the kale and carrots I've purchased over the past couple of weeks. They reminded me what it was like to have food that had real flavor and real connection to soil near us. The next impetus was actually working on a friend's farm (more on this in another post); I hope to do this more in coming weeks and have a better appreciation for what connects us to what sustains us. The final push was using a rutabaga in tonight's red curry. It was a last minute whim, and one I'm glad for. The flavor was delicious, and it was nice to take a step or two out of my box. Moreover, it was good to see the kid eat it and enjoy it.
So... if I can be good about it... and find the time amidst work, parenting, trying to start a business, and life in general... stay tuned for a balance between posts about beer and posts about seasonal eating and connections to where and how food is grown in the region. Hell, maybe I'll even get into canning and pickling. If all goes well, this may even connect to how the ingredients for beer can be produced locally. So, yeah... stay tuned.
Cheers!
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Going public
So there is a very big change happening in my life in the next two days... I will be leaving my current company. The end-result of this is yet to be seen, but the short-term plans include helping out some friends with art direction, design and copy freelance work (both web and print) and pushing at a business plan. At the same time, I will be looking at full-time jobs in the vein I've been in for years now, but the business plan is an important side note. The goal I and a couple partners have is to take the upsized homebrewing project legit and open a new brewery in Richmond in the next year.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Course 1
Winter vegetable terrine, roasted mushroom pâté, and local cheeses
Foggy Ridge First Fruit Cider — This dry cider from Floyd, VA, with a touch of fruitiness will pair nicely with the local cheeses and rich terrine and pâté.
Course 2
Welsh rarebit with honey roasted radishes and walnuts
Tupper’s Keller Pils — While the first inkling was to go with a brown ale here, the dry taste of the pils should provide a nice contrast for the richness of the rarebit.
Course 3
Root vegetable cassoulet with black-eyed peas and winter greens
Stillwater Existent or Cellar Door — Existent is a deliciously hoppy black IPA fermented with a Belgian yeast, and Cellar Door is a classic saison flavored with a touch of white sage. There's an either/or here based on label approval for the Existent (VA ABC!).
Course 4
Churros with spiced chocolate, Orange/vanilla flan
Blue Mountain Dark Hollow — This is our coup of the evening. The Dark Hollow is traditionally only sold at the brewery, but the kind brewers at Blue Mountain have agreed to release a case for this event.
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Losing my mojo
I haven't really lost my mojo, but I have struggled with cooking in recent months. For a while, I blamed this on the stove at the house we bought in late May. It was newer, better, and more powerful than anything I'd used before. Easy blame, right? Same with the grill. The chimney brought my cherished hardwood charcoal to a hotter fire sooner. But the truth is I'm just off my game.
When I pay attention as I did this evening, things come out brilliantly. A little late perhaps, but still good. Tonight's menu was simply chicken thighs and legs pan roasted with rice and steamed veggies. Seasoning on the chicken was simple — coarse-ground salt and pepper, parsley, and a touch of spanish paprika, squeeze of lemon. I used the cast-iron skillet and put a little butter in until it browned, added the chicken and sauteed until there was a nice brown crust on the skin. I turned it over and cooked the underside for a few minutes before transferring the skillet to a 375F oven.
Thirty minutes (and a Troeg's Scratch #34 Saison de Meuze) later, I had rice and steamed veggies ready to go, and the chicken had cooked to a beautiful, perfect, brown crackling skin. It was perfect, until the kid got halfway through and said she didn't really like the chicken very much. I was ready to start my rant of "you used to like this more than anything else" until I glanced over and realized the circles had crept in under her eyes.
In my effort to get my cooking mojo back (a success), I failed in my effort to feed the kid before tired set in. The thing is the creeping exhaustion is hard to predict. Some nights she can hold out until 8:30. Not last night.
I've spent a lot of time lately trying to find balance between everything I'm trying to do and being a dad and a partner to my fiancée. It's not always the easiest balance to achieve, and it takes a lot of mojo. Apparently, I need to work a little harder at it still.
*****************
The beer geek in me, however, wants to report that a Lake Placid UBU Ale matched nicely against the chicken, with its touch of smoke and lemon. It wasn't quite as successful a pairing as the L'Olmaia unfiltered wheat beer I tried several weeks ago, but a credible pairing nonetheless.
When I pay attention as I did this evening, things come out brilliantly. A little late perhaps, but still good. Tonight's menu was simply chicken thighs and legs pan roasted with rice and steamed veggies. Seasoning on the chicken was simple — coarse-ground salt and pepper, parsley, and a touch of spanish paprika, squeeze of lemon. I used the cast-iron skillet and put a little butter in until it browned, added the chicken and sauteed until there was a nice brown crust on the skin. I turned it over and cooked the underside for a few minutes before transferring the skillet to a 375F oven.
Thirty minutes (and a Troeg's Scratch #34 Saison de Meuze) later, I had rice and steamed veggies ready to go, and the chicken had cooked to a beautiful, perfect, brown crackling skin. It was perfect, until the kid got halfway through and said she didn't really like the chicken very much. I was ready to start my rant of "you used to like this more than anything else" until I glanced over and realized the circles had crept in under her eyes.
In my effort to get my cooking mojo back (a success), I failed in my effort to feed the kid before tired set in. The thing is the creeping exhaustion is hard to predict. Some nights she can hold out until 8:30. Not last night.
I've spent a lot of time lately trying to find balance between everything I'm trying to do and being a dad and a partner to my fiancée. It's not always the easiest balance to achieve, and it takes a lot of mojo. Apparently, I need to work a little harder at it still.
*****************
The beer geek in me, however, wants to report that a Lake Placid UBU Ale matched nicely against the chicken, with its touch of smoke and lemon. It wasn't quite as successful a pairing as the L'Olmaia unfiltered wheat beer I tried several weeks ago, but a credible pairing nonetheless.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Welcoming Fall
This weekend, we needed to use up our CSA share. With nearly fifty bucks left, we binged on a bushel of heirloom variety apples and whatever veggies were still left at the market. (Word to the wise: sleeping in feels good when you don't have the kid but works against getting the best Saturday market variety.) Among the things I picked up was a bag of small to medium sweet potatoes. I've never been a huge fan of sweet potatoes — the Yankee in me comes out sometimes — but I've been trying to expand my cooking horizons this year.
Richmond was finally graced with real fall weather this week. Last week's rains brought a change in the air, and we've been downright chilly at night. On my way to pick up the kid at her mom's class, I decided it was time to welcome fall properly and how better to do that than with soup — Sweet Potato Bisque. And lamb chops.
The kid has apparently lost her taste for sweet potatoes; she would have pesto pasta, the standby. Since she'd finished her homework, I drafted her help. She helped me put together the stock from TJ's concentrate and hot water. She rinsed the apple and the sweet potatoes, peeled the garlic, and added the apples and sweet potatoes to the sweated onions and garlic, stirring all the time. I did the chopping, and she helped with adding the spices as well. Next time, I will be sure to get pictures to have the events recorded for posterity. In the end, it was too bad that she didn't want to try the soup, but truth be told I was glad to be able to up the heat factor to balance out the sweet potatoes and apple.
The sides were pan-seared lamb chops simply dusted with coarse salt and pepper, a cucumber and pepper salad, and a couscous/lentil mix for L. Serve it with a red wine dry enough to counter the sweetness and full enough to stand up to the spice, or better yet get a nice saison to complement the flavors. In any case, here's the improvised recipe...
****************
Keep in mind that this is all based on improvisation. It's largely a bisque because of consistency, and I opted for bourbon because we were out of sherry. With a good bourbon, it worked nicely.
Ingredients:
1/2 stick butter
1 small onion
4 cloves garlic
1 apple
6 small to medium sweet potatoes
5 cups vegetable broth
1 roasted poblano pepper
Spices: cumin, fennel seeds, salt, pepper, fresh ginger, sweet and hot paprika, and saffron
Bourbon (approximately 1/2 cup)
Plain yogurt
Preparation:
1. Dice apples and sweet potatoes into 1 inch or smaller pieces
2. Chop onion and garlic coarsely.
3. Heat butter in large stock pot on medium heat and add onion and garlic. When sweated to shimmering, add the apple and a few mills of salt and pepper. Allow to sweat for five minutes and begin to add sweet potatoes. Add a dash of each spice and sweat a few minutes until the mixture becomes aromatic.
4. Add 4 cups of vegetable broth.
5. Bring mixture to boil for five minutes and reduce to simmer for 25 minutes or until the potatoes and apples are soft and break up easily.
6. Use immersion blender to puree mixture. Add additional stock and bourbon while blending. If you want a thinner soup, add extra stock.
7. Bring to boil again and drop to simmer for as long as needed.
8. Taste and add spice to balance. Should have a good bite that gives way to the sweet flavors and saffron mid-palate.
9. Serve with a dollop of plain yogurt, a pinch of fleur de sel and a rosemary sprig.
Will serve at least six.
Richmond was finally graced with real fall weather this week. Last week's rains brought a change in the air, and we've been downright chilly at night. On my way to pick up the kid at her mom's class, I decided it was time to welcome fall properly and how better to do that than with soup — Sweet Potato Bisque. And lamb chops.
The kid has apparently lost her taste for sweet potatoes; she would have pesto pasta, the standby. Since she'd finished her homework, I drafted her help. She helped me put together the stock from TJ's concentrate and hot water. She rinsed the apple and the sweet potatoes, peeled the garlic, and added the apples and sweet potatoes to the sweated onions and garlic, stirring all the time. I did the chopping, and she helped with adding the spices as well. Next time, I will be sure to get pictures to have the events recorded for posterity. In the end, it was too bad that she didn't want to try the soup, but truth be told I was glad to be able to up the heat factor to balance out the sweet potatoes and apple.
The sides were pan-seared lamb chops simply dusted with coarse salt and pepper, a cucumber and pepper salad, and a couscous/lentil mix for L. Serve it with a red wine dry enough to counter the sweetness and full enough to stand up to the spice, or better yet get a nice saison to complement the flavors. In any case, here's the improvised recipe...
****************
Keep in mind that this is all based on improvisation. It's largely a bisque because of consistency, and I opted for bourbon because we were out of sherry. With a good bourbon, it worked nicely.
Ingredients:
1/2 stick butter
1 small onion
4 cloves garlic
1 apple
6 small to medium sweet potatoes
5 cups vegetable broth
1 roasted poblano pepper
Spices: cumin, fennel seeds, salt, pepper, fresh ginger, sweet and hot paprika, and saffron
Bourbon (approximately 1/2 cup)
Plain yogurt
Preparation:
1. Dice apples and sweet potatoes into 1 inch or smaller pieces
2. Chop onion and garlic coarsely.
3. Heat butter in large stock pot on medium heat and add onion and garlic. When sweated to shimmering, add the apple and a few mills of salt and pepper. Allow to sweat for five minutes and begin to add sweet potatoes. Add a dash of each spice and sweat a few minutes until the mixture becomes aromatic.
4. Add 4 cups of vegetable broth.
5. Bring mixture to boil for five minutes and reduce to simmer for 25 minutes or until the potatoes and apples are soft and break up easily.
6. Use immersion blender to puree mixture. Add additional stock and bourbon while blending. If you want a thinner soup, add extra stock.
7. Bring to boil again and drop to simmer for as long as needed.
8. Taste and add spice to balance. Should have a good bite that gives way to the sweet flavors and saffron mid-palate.
9. Serve with a dollop of plain yogurt, a pinch of fleur de sel and a rosemary sprig.
Will serve at least six.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Stuzzi — Adding salt to the mix.
After one of my fellow food bloggers exposed some questionable management techniques at Stuzzi, I was determined that we wouldn't try it. The place had gotten enough negative press from fellow foodies for mediocre pies, poor climate control, an inexperienced staff, and a bloviating owner that we had steered clear already. Still, the place also had enough buzz that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Fast-forward to this past Sunday when a friend suggested it for dinner. The kid had headed off for the night with her mom, and I hadn't planned ahead for dinner so we had a "why not" moment.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Pizza night, the small version
So we were lucky enough to be connected in with a monthly pizza circle in Richmond recently, and I had the chance to see some truly creative work happening with the pies. Though there were no other kids around, it proved a delightfully kid-friendly event for Buttercup, too. Good times.
Fast-forward a few days to Thursday, a night we'd sworn to go swimming after missing the past few days. Pool night means a good bit of relaxation, but it also means eating later than usual. (We've tried going to Mekong after swimming a couple times, and while it is delicious, the night can sometimes be a bit too indulgent.) In any case, we've lately come to three parameters for dinners: 1. Get dinner ready so we can eat together; 2. Eat before the kid gets too tired and/or cranky; 3. Use what we have so we do a better job of staying within the budget.
L suggested pizza. She could thaw the TJ's dough in the freezer. At ninety-nine cents a pop, Trader Joe's fresh dough is a lifesaver — high quality and easy to use. To make life for later even easier, she divided the dough into two smaller pies and pre-baked the crust.
We got back from swimming just after 8 p.m. and raided the fridge. The kid wanted pepperoni and olives. A good quality salumi was a good pepperoni substitute. Add marinara, some grated mozzarella, some feta and a few kalamata olives, and the kid's pie was ready to go. Ten minutes in the oven, and it was finished. Ours was more of a hodge-podge: the last of the artichokes and roasted peppers, some leftover fresh sage, marinara, blue cheese and mozzarella, olives, and some crushed chili. And this is what the hodge-podge looked like:
Delicious. Cheap. And it was all a matter of what we had in the fridge. What a perfect cheapicurean moment.
Fast-forward a few days to Thursday, a night we'd sworn to go swimming after missing the past few days. Pool night means a good bit of relaxation, but it also means eating later than usual. (We've tried going to Mekong after swimming a couple times, and while it is delicious, the night can sometimes be a bit too indulgent.) In any case, we've lately come to three parameters for dinners: 1. Get dinner ready so we can eat together; 2. Eat before the kid gets too tired and/or cranky; 3. Use what we have so we do a better job of staying within the budget.
L suggested pizza. She could thaw the TJ's dough in the freezer. At ninety-nine cents a pop, Trader Joe's fresh dough is a lifesaver — high quality and easy to use. To make life for later even easier, she divided the dough into two smaller pies and pre-baked the crust.
We got back from swimming just after 8 p.m. and raided the fridge. The kid wanted pepperoni and olives. A good quality salumi was a good pepperoni substitute. Add marinara, some grated mozzarella, some feta and a few kalamata olives, and the kid's pie was ready to go. Ten minutes in the oven, and it was finished. Ours was more of a hodge-podge: the last of the artichokes and roasted peppers, some leftover fresh sage, marinara, blue cheese and mozzarella, olives, and some crushed chili. And this is what the hodge-podge looked like:
Delicious. Cheap. And it was all a matter of what we had in the fridge. What a perfect cheapicurean moment.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Continuing the evolution
A few little items of business...
Stay tuned for more, longer, and better posts soon.
- Based on my last few posts, you may have deduced that beer-blogging will be returning here. Apparently, besides a general passion for tasting new beers, my refrigerator is an indication that I am also beginning to accumulate and collect interesting beers. Stay tuned for more on this.
- Recent changes in life and budget priorities mean that I will be looking very closely at what we are eating and what we are spending. This probably means fewer restaurant meals — not necessarily a great loss — and more creative ways of making amazing (and cost-effective) meals at home. We have also begun to make more aggressive efforts to plan meals ahead. This week's specials: Taco Night and Bamboo Stir-fry Night.
- Banana was informed last night that she'll be helping cook from time to time. We're all looking forward to this, and I'm quietly thinking about the challenge when she is asked to prepare a whole meal for the three of us.
- Reilly has retired to Ohio. He is quite happy about this as it means he gets more attention and more walks on the golf courses and in the woods. We are sad to miss our greeter — and I keep reminding myself when food drops that there is no longer a dog to help clean it up.
- If all goes well, we will be moving to a new house soon with a much-upgraded kitchen. Please keep your fingers crossed that all goes well.
- Before the move to said-house, there will also be a trip to Italy. Prepare for profuse food blogging before, during, and after.
- Lastly, I'm still playing with the question of whether to rename the whole venture to better reflect the direction this is taking and maybe free me up to start another for writing and photography...
Stay tuned for more, longer, and better posts soon.
Monday, March 08, 2010
The problem with Richmond restaurants...
This weekend, we had a couple of experiences that perfectly explain my issues with so much of the Richmond restaurant scene. On Friday, my mother came into town, and L and I took advantage of the chance to have an adult meal with her while the kid was over at her mom's.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Goat Cheese!
Last week, fellow Richmond food bloggers One Couple's Kitchen wrote about their experiment making homemade goat cheese based on a recipe from Serious Eats. The process sounded remarkably easy and jived with my growing urge to know the chemistry and mechanics behind the making of food. I want to step beyond just cooking and using ingredients and understand how to create my own ingredients. That's really one of the goals for 2010. In this case, I knew Trader Joe's was stocking goat's milk, so it was easy to make a go of it.
All it requires is a quart of goat's milk, lemon, salt, garlic, cheese cloth and a food thermometer, and an hour and a half of your time. That's all.
We came back from Sunday dinner with the neighbors. I poured the milk in a stainless pot and watched until the thermometer hit 180º. The recipe called for a quarter cup of lemon juice, but I was working with whole lemons and seem to have lost (or purged) my juicer. I juiced a lemon and a half through a strainer to curdle the milk and waited for 20 seconds or so while the curdle happened. The curd then went into the cheese cloth — we used about eight layers to be sure that it held the curd — and I drew up the corners. Tie the satchel on a wooden spoon over a large bowl, and then wait.
When it was finished, I mixed it with a crushed clove of garlic and three pinches of good salt and let it stand, covered over night. That's it. So simple.
We tried it with friends the next night, and it was a hit. I would say it was a touch on the lemony side, and I think I'll be tempted to source some milk that is not ultra-pasteurized in the future. That said, this is one that I'll keep coming back to.
Next up: Corned beef, more cheese and returning to making hummus.
All it requires is a quart of goat's milk, lemon, salt, garlic, cheese cloth and a food thermometer, and an hour and a half of your time. That's all.
We came back from Sunday dinner with the neighbors. I poured the milk in a stainless pot and watched until the thermometer hit 180º. The recipe called for a quarter cup of lemon juice, but I was working with whole lemons and seem to have lost (or purged) my juicer. I juiced a lemon and a half through a strainer to curdle the milk and waited for 20 seconds or so while the curdle happened. The curd then went into the cheese cloth — we used about eight layers to be sure that it held the curd — and I drew up the corners. Tie the satchel on a wooden spoon over a large bowl, and then wait.
When it was finished, I mixed it with a crushed clove of garlic and three pinches of good salt and let it stand, covered over night. That's it. So simple.
We tried it with friends the next night, and it was a hit. I would say it was a touch on the lemony side, and I think I'll be tempted to source some milk that is not ultra-pasteurized in the future. That said, this is one that I'll keep coming back to.
Next up: Corned beef, more cheese and returning to making hummus.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Bouillabaisse!
One intersection of my lifehacking and cooking efforts happens with my decision to follow through on things I've long said I will do. In the case of this weekend's Valentine's celebration with L and several friends, this included finally making bouillabaisse. It is something I've said I would do for several years, but every time I almost did it, I backed off. Not this time.
I did my usual recipe digging and found that bouillabaisse, like paella, is one of those dishes that has few rules other than the the base ingredients. In my research, though, I kept coming back to a version of Julia Child's original recipe. It is a simple matter of building the stock and then letting the rest of the ingredients come together as needed and based on what you have available to you. And then, of course, there's the rouille.
Once I'd settled on the recipe, the next step was plotting out the ingredients. Bouillabaisse can be a pricey affair — unless you happen to be family of someone who harvests shellfish and catches fresh fish. Since the numbers from dinner could have ranged from 6 to 12, I had to shoot a little high on the ingredients. Since I also had to aim for convenience and time-efficiency, the source would be Whole Foods. I started with a half pound of mussels, a dozen littleneck clams, a dozen extra large shrimp with the shells on, and two-thirds of a pound of scallops. By and large, the shellfish were in beautiful shape, though I did end up pitching about a quarter of the mussels. For the fish, I opted for tilapia and cod, almost two pounds total. They had the right consistency and flavor and were beautiful cuts without being as expensive as other options.
I made a few other substitutions along the way. For the sake of time and since truly beautiful tomatoes are hard to come by right now, I opted for a large can of diced tomatoes. I also skipped the step when fish skeletons are stewed and used a mix of my own fish stock, a quart of Whole Foods' fish stock, and a quart of water to cut the intensity. The other tweaks I made to the base recipe included a healthy splash of Cointreau and about a quarter cup of Sauvignon Blanc. I also decided to rest the broth off heat between the initial near-boil and bringing it back to heat and adding the seafood a couple hours later.
Bouillabaisse was a muse a while back, but not something I'd ever cooked. As such, I didn't know about rouille — the little side sauce that creates a bit of magic when dolloped in bowls and slathered on fresh, crusty bread. Most recipes use water- and lemon- soaked bread as the base for the paste, but Julia's recipe had a variation using almonds. Since we'd be heavy on the bread anyway, I decided to try the almonds as an alternative. By the time I was working on the rouille, I also had word that the crowd would be 12, and I decided to double the recipe. I roasted two peppers using Alice Waters' oven-roasting technique, added my own dried chili from last summer's market. The puree quickly turned a bright orange — aided by a touch of saffron — and I began adding the olive oil per the recipe. At a taste, the flavors were rich and explosive, but L thought it tasted a bit heavy on the olive oil. It was a perfect opportunity for a little kitchen training for the kid, a chance to explain that you countered the fatty flavor of the oil by adding more lemon, more salt, and a bit more of the chili to sharpen the flavor. Another couple minutes running in the food processor, and the rouille was ready to put aside.
After a quick interlude for Valentine's Day celebrations and a glass of Linden Vineyards excellent 2005 Claret (another story for another time), we migrated the food next door for the actual dinner party. The celebration was kicking in, and it would be another hour or so before I'd go through the final steps. At that point, ti became a game of time — adding the shrimp, then the clams and mussels, then the scallops and finally the fish sliced into inch-wide strips at intervals so the soup could be pulled off the fire and served minutes after the last fish was added. Timing hasn't always been my strong suit, but it worked this time.
At final listing, the menu stacked up as follows: cheese fondue with vegetables and bread, a pear/walnut/gorgonzola salad, the bouillabaisse with bread baked fresh by our host, a champagne rose petal sorbet also made by the host, chocolate fondue, and home-made eclairs. The wine flowed, the kids had their own celebration, and it was declared one of the best (and most decadent) food celebrations any of us could remember.
There's something magical to sharing a meal with people. When done well and in the right company, all sorts of boundaries can drop and time stops for a brief, wonderful period. When you step away with full stomachs and the touch of sweet and bite of savory still lingering on your lips, a light just seems to shine on the rest of life.
I did my usual recipe digging and found that bouillabaisse, like paella, is one of those dishes that has few rules other than the the base ingredients. In my research, though, I kept coming back to a version of Julia Child's original recipe. It is a simple matter of building the stock and then letting the rest of the ingredients come together as needed and based on what you have available to you. And then, of course, there's the rouille.
Once I'd settled on the recipe, the next step was plotting out the ingredients. Bouillabaisse can be a pricey affair — unless you happen to be family of someone who harvests shellfish and catches fresh fish. Since the numbers from dinner could have ranged from 6 to 12, I had to shoot a little high on the ingredients. Since I also had to aim for convenience and time-efficiency, the source would be Whole Foods. I started with a half pound of mussels, a dozen littleneck clams, a dozen extra large shrimp with the shells on, and two-thirds of a pound of scallops. By and large, the shellfish were in beautiful shape, though I did end up pitching about a quarter of the mussels. For the fish, I opted for tilapia and cod, almost two pounds total. They had the right consistency and flavor and were beautiful cuts without being as expensive as other options.
I made a few other substitutions along the way. For the sake of time and since truly beautiful tomatoes are hard to come by right now, I opted for a large can of diced tomatoes. I also skipped the step when fish skeletons are stewed and used a mix of my own fish stock, a quart of Whole Foods' fish stock, and a quart of water to cut the intensity. The other tweaks I made to the base recipe included a healthy splash of Cointreau and about a quarter cup of Sauvignon Blanc. I also decided to rest the broth off heat between the initial near-boil and bringing it back to heat and adding the seafood a couple hours later.
Bouillabaisse was a muse a while back, but not something I'd ever cooked. As such, I didn't know about rouille — the little side sauce that creates a bit of magic when dolloped in bowls and slathered on fresh, crusty bread. Most recipes use water- and lemon- soaked bread as the base for the paste, but Julia's recipe had a variation using almonds. Since we'd be heavy on the bread anyway, I decided to try the almonds as an alternative. By the time I was working on the rouille, I also had word that the crowd would be 12, and I decided to double the recipe. I roasted two peppers using Alice Waters' oven-roasting technique, added my own dried chili from last summer's market. The puree quickly turned a bright orange — aided by a touch of saffron — and I began adding the olive oil per the recipe. At a taste, the flavors were rich and explosive, but L thought it tasted a bit heavy on the olive oil. It was a perfect opportunity for a little kitchen training for the kid, a chance to explain that you countered the fatty flavor of the oil by adding more lemon, more salt, and a bit more of the chili to sharpen the flavor. Another couple minutes running in the food processor, and the rouille was ready to put aside.
After a quick interlude for Valentine's Day celebrations and a glass of Linden Vineyards excellent 2005 Claret (another story for another time), we migrated the food next door for the actual dinner party. The celebration was kicking in, and it would be another hour or so before I'd go through the final steps. At that point, ti became a game of time — adding the shrimp, then the clams and mussels, then the scallops and finally the fish sliced into inch-wide strips at intervals so the soup could be pulled off the fire and served minutes after the last fish was added. Timing hasn't always been my strong suit, but it worked this time.
At final listing, the menu stacked up as follows: cheese fondue with vegetables and bread, a pear/walnut/gorgonzola salad, the bouillabaisse with bread baked fresh by our host, a champagne rose petal sorbet also made by the host, chocolate fondue, and home-made eclairs. The wine flowed, the kids had their own celebration, and it was declared one of the best (and most decadent) food celebrations any of us could remember.
There's something magical to sharing a meal with people. When done well and in the right company, all sorts of boundaries can drop and time stops for a brief, wonderful period. When you step away with full stomachs and the touch of sweet and bite of savory still lingering on your lips, a light just seems to shine on the rest of life.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Bisque!
I've decided to begin running with new ideas and new recipes for the coming year. I want to learn how to do things like make corned beef. I want to challenge the boundaries of dishes and preparations that I already know. I want to pick out an old food magazine every week and find things to make out of it. I want to — as I outlined a couple posts ago — take a second look at the ingredients in my cupboards or in the market and rethink how we're eating.
Last week, I took a shot at this when L and I were debating what to make for dinner — without wanting to eat out again or do another big grocery run. She had an acorn squash, and I had the muse of making a winter squash bisque. With the quick direction to pick up some sherry and another squash at the store, and a plan to get bread at our local French joint — Can Can — I did a bit of research and came up with a nice recipe to tweak.
Instead of the called-for olive oil, I opted for butter, and on the sauté, I added a healthy dose of smoked Spanish paprika. Beyond that, I followed the recipe to the letter. The result was a hearty, smoky cold-weather meal of soup, bread and salad. Since L is not a fan of all-things-smoked, however, I decided we needed another go at the soup this weekend.
The second round I upped the stock a bit and added more tomatoes, since L would be serving it at her book club. This meant all the spices needed a boost, as did the sherry. In the end, I switched up the smoked paprika for sweet Hungarian paprika, and the result was a very different (and much better) bisque. With a dose of ground chili and thyme at the end, the soup struck the perfect note. With any luck, the women in L's book club will agree.
Regardless, I'll be making this one again for sure. What I love about the soup — besides the taste, of course — is that it is so simple. The recipe only involves a few ingredients and some fairly simple preparations to achieve a result that seems (and tastes) far more complex. The next step will be to jump past the kid's pickiness and get her to try it too. Wish me luck on that one...
Last week, I took a shot at this when L and I were debating what to make for dinner — without wanting to eat out again or do another big grocery run. She had an acorn squash, and I had the muse of making a winter squash bisque. With the quick direction to pick up some sherry and another squash at the store, and a plan to get bread at our local French joint — Can Can — I did a bit of research and came up with a nice recipe to tweak.
Instead of the called-for olive oil, I opted for butter, and on the sauté, I added a healthy dose of smoked Spanish paprika. Beyond that, I followed the recipe to the letter. The result was a hearty, smoky cold-weather meal of soup, bread and salad. Since L is not a fan of all-things-smoked, however, I decided we needed another go at the soup this weekend.
The second round I upped the stock a bit and added more tomatoes, since L would be serving it at her book club. This meant all the spices needed a boost, as did the sherry. In the end, I switched up the smoked paprika for sweet Hungarian paprika, and the result was a very different (and much better) bisque. With a dose of ground chili and thyme at the end, the soup struck the perfect note. With any luck, the women in L's book club will agree.
Regardless, I'll be making this one again for sure. What I love about the soup — besides the taste, of course — is that it is so simple. The recipe only involves a few ingredients and some fairly simple preparations to achieve a result that seems (and tastes) far more complex. The next step will be to jump past the kid's pickiness and get her to try it too. Wish me luck on that one...
Thursday, February 04, 2010
snow dreams of food
Richmond is seeing its snowiest winter in recent memory this year. It's almost as though all the jokes about runs on the local grocery stores for milk, eggs, and bread when the word "snow" hits the forecast have finally brought karmic retribution back on us in the form of two good-sized storms. Each has dumped nearly a foot of snow on the area and paralyzed businesses and shut schools. The kids have had a hell of a time, and parents are running out of ways to amuse them. After all, there's only so much you can do when you live in the heart of the city to send your kids out to pasture.
There have been some collateral benefits, however. They include slowing down by necessity and re-acquainting ourselves with the house, and remembering to cook more and use more of the food that stuffs the fridge. Recent adventures have included remembering how to make crépes, gingerbread and biscotti (thanks to L), fondue, chili, and more.
Last night's adventure was more of a culinary break than I've made lately. Facing down dwindling supplies of various staples and specialty items, I knew we had a few hurdles to cross. L is a pescatarian, which means I have to temper my meat-loving tendencies for some meals or find a general balance in others. The Kid has lately gotten even pickier about what she'll eat — a foodie kid losing her omnivorousness is another post for another time. Lastly, I realized feeding us all at the same time wasn't going to work. Solution time...
The kid got pesto pasta. It's not the most creative solution, but some penne with TJ's pesto on it is a sure-fire silver bullet when she's hungry and tired. Add a bit of feta and a few grape tomatoes, and the meal is complete and easy to put together while she hangs out with us.
For L and I, I concocted a wholly different idea. I had lentils that had been around a while, a small stash of grape tomatoes, an onion, garlic, and a well-stocked spice cabinet. A quick check of Saveur brought up an Ethiopian lentil stew. That combined with some savory whole-wheat crépes started to sound a whole lot like an improvised Ethiopian dinner. The lentils took about an hour to cook and come together. It was the right amount of time for mixing up a quick crépe batter and running the crepes. I pulled one of the small zucchinis in the fridge and sliced it into quarter-inch-thick half-moons. These I tossed with a bit of olive oil, cumin, salt and pepper, and put on a baking pan to roast while L was working on biscotti, round 2.
When the crépes were ready, I laid out one on each plate as one might find a bed of injera in an Ethiopian restaurant and then added two more, folded to quarters, to section off the plate. On one side went the zucchini, and on the other a pile of lentils topped with a small dollop of plain yogurt. On a shared plate, I put out The lentils weren't as spicy as I'd hoped, so I'll be looking for some real berbere powder for the next attempt. Nonetheless, the flavors came together wonderfully and both L and I finished the meal with nearly clean plates.
I recommend stepping back and looking back at your cupboards once in a while and thinking about new ways you can use the same old ingredients.
There have been some collateral benefits, however. They include slowing down by necessity and re-acquainting ourselves with the house, and remembering to cook more and use more of the food that stuffs the fridge. Recent adventures have included remembering how to make crépes, gingerbread and biscotti (thanks to L), fondue, chili, and more.
Last night's adventure was more of a culinary break than I've made lately. Facing down dwindling supplies of various staples and specialty items, I knew we had a few hurdles to cross. L is a pescatarian, which means I have to temper my meat-loving tendencies for some meals or find a general balance in others. The Kid has lately gotten even pickier about what she'll eat — a foodie kid losing her omnivorousness is another post for another time. Lastly, I realized feeding us all at the same time wasn't going to work. Solution time...
The kid got pesto pasta. It's not the most creative solution, but some penne with TJ's pesto on it is a sure-fire silver bullet when she's hungry and tired. Add a bit of feta and a few grape tomatoes, and the meal is complete and easy to put together while she hangs out with us.
For L and I, I concocted a wholly different idea. I had lentils that had been around a while, a small stash of grape tomatoes, an onion, garlic, and a well-stocked spice cabinet. A quick check of Saveur brought up an Ethiopian lentil stew. That combined with some savory whole-wheat crépes started to sound a whole lot like an improvised Ethiopian dinner. The lentils took about an hour to cook and come together. It was the right amount of time for mixing up a quick crépe batter and running the crepes. I pulled one of the small zucchinis in the fridge and sliced it into quarter-inch-thick half-moons. These I tossed with a bit of olive oil, cumin, salt and pepper, and put on a baking pan to roast while L was working on biscotti, round 2.
When the crépes were ready, I laid out one on each plate as one might find a bed of injera in an Ethiopian restaurant and then added two more, folded to quarters, to section off the plate. On one side went the zucchini, and on the other a pile of lentils topped with a small dollop of plain yogurt. On a shared plate, I put out The lentils weren't as spicy as I'd hoped, so I'll be looking for some real berbere powder for the next attempt. Nonetheless, the flavors came together wonderfully and both L and I finished the meal with nearly clean plates.
I recommend stepping back and looking back at your cupboards once in a while and thinking about new ways you can use the same old ingredients.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
ad satire hilarity meets the way we really should feel about processed food.
Oh, food, why have we forsaken you so?
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
cooking, or getting to it
I realize that I haven't been writing very much lately on one of my favorite subjects — food and cooking. For one reason or another, I also haven't been doing very much cooking lately.
In any case, the coming weeks will bring my annual foray into my take on my grandmother's Swedish Meatballs. Much as I love IKEA's meatballs in a pinch, they have nothing on this preparation — particularly with the inclusion of meat from Belmont Butchery. In past years, I've done gløg. This year, I may attempt her Swedish fruit soup. Maybe I'll even pull one or two more Swedish traditions out of the woodwork.
For New Years Eve, I'll do the paella I've done the past few years. Since someone else will be doing a seafood preparation this year, I'll be able to return to a full-on recipe. I may even pull the rabbit parts out of the freezer for a flavoring saute, and I may even jump to a wood-fired preparation on the grill. It all depends how adventuresome I feel, and whether I feel like cooking in a tux again this year.
And then there's the Super-Dad Cookie Baking Party...
In any case, the coming weeks will bring my annual foray into my take on my grandmother's Swedish Meatballs. Much as I love IKEA's meatballs in a pinch, they have nothing on this preparation — particularly with the inclusion of meat from Belmont Butchery. In past years, I've done gløg. This year, I may attempt her Swedish fruit soup. Maybe I'll even pull one or two more Swedish traditions out of the woodwork.
For New Years Eve, I'll do the paella I've done the past few years. Since someone else will be doing a seafood preparation this year, I'll be able to return to a full-on recipe. I may even pull the rabbit parts out of the freezer for a flavoring saute, and I may even jump to a wood-fired preparation on the grill. It all depends how adventuresome I feel, and whether I feel like cooking in a tux again this year.
And then there's the Super-Dad Cookie Baking Party...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The epidemic of OK.
I've been pondering the conundrum of restaurants around Richmond for a while now. L's description of her lunch yesterday at Balliceaux, the new hotspot, put a fine point on it. It was just "Okay." The falafel was overdone. The flatbread store quality. The ahi tuna on the salad cooked rather than seared. And her companion's rice/beans/pork plate piled as though it came from a cafeteria. All this from a restaurant that opened to stellar reviews just a month ago. It would be one thing if this was not the second "down" experience with the place.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Brief Pop Culture Notes
We're sitting on the couch watching the Food Network. Chopped just wrapped up. What comes to mind is how similar every one of these reality/competition shows has become. They all work on the same formula. The music seems canned and common across the whole genre. The edits and cuts seemed canned as well. When it comes to the food "reality" shows, watching is still fun because I end up thinking about techniques and approaches I've never considered. Still, from Chopped to Top Chef, the shows have gotten so formulaic that it doesn't matter which one you watch. They're basically the same.
Feel free to argue another side in the comments.
Feel free to argue another side in the comments.
Monday, June 22, 2009
weekend round-up, pt. 1 — the market report
The market trip this weekend needed to be abbreviated to accommodate an errand down to The Weekend Brewer in Chester, particularly since we arrived a little later than had been planned. (Non-Buttercup weekends sometimes slip off schedule.) That said, market trips are increasingly hard to abbreviate since the market has become a complete scene. The evolution is not at all surprising, particularly as it grows. What it means, however, is that it is more difficult to get a survey of all the good stuff.
Beyond the social explosion and the lines waiting for Nate's tacos and breakfast burritos, the growing season is bringing all sorts of bounty to the market. Asparagus has given way to squash, and broccoli has given way to cucumbers. There are a whole range of beets, radishes and turnips showing up. We even have a lamb producer added to the meat vendors.
This week's roundup included:
There were a few other random items too, but it's the duck that has me perplexed. I've never cooked one before and plan to smoke it today or tomorrow. Stay tuned...
In coming weeks, I hope to stretch the market report a bit. It will probably take a little more focus and punctuality, however — especially if I want to get there before Blanchard's sells out of whole beans.
Beyond the social explosion and the lines waiting for Nate's tacos and breakfast burritos, the growing season is bringing all sorts of bounty to the market. Asparagus has given way to squash, and broccoli has given way to cucumbers. There are a whole range of beets, radishes and turnips showing up. We even have a lamb producer added to the meat vendors.
This week's roundup included:
- Arugula
- French Breakfast Radishes
- Cucumbers
- Fennel
- Purple cabbage
- Eggplant
- a duck (!) from Faith Farms
There were a few other random items too, but it's the duck that has me perplexed. I've never cooked one before and plan to smoke it today or tomorrow. Stay tuned...
In coming weeks, I hope to stretch the market report a bit. It will probably take a little more focus and punctuality, however — especially if I want to get there before Blanchard's sells out of whole beans.
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