VittlesVamp

AsiaFoodPhile

I'm obsessed. I know that in some small way my utter adoration for Chinese food stems from a classic New York Judaic upbringing. This is to be expected. On Christmas, it's full-on tradition.

But that doesn't explain my infatuation with multitudes of other Asian cuisines.

I am still on the hunt for a Vietnamese restaurant in NYC that satisfies my bun cravings, the way that they can in Philly's Chinatown when I visit Mama Vamp.

On the flipside, a couple weeks ago, I was overjoyed to introduce my Mom to Pok Pok for her first taste of serious Northern Thai fare. She kvelled over Chef Andy Ricker's spin on brussels sprouts, sauteing them in oyster sauce and spiking with Thai chilis. Don't get me started on her euphoric reaction to his infamous chicken wings. She was saddened to learn a similar Thai haunt hasn't yet opened in the City of Brotherly Love.

Still, I don't think Mama Vamp is the source of my Asian food fascination. How then could I account for my happy noodle-slurping ways at both Ivan Ramen and Ganso as of late? She doesn't care for Japanese food. And, that goes double for sushi. (Oh, how I adore the pristine sushi and sashimi at Jewel Bako!)

Then, of course, there is Korean. Count me in for incredible barbecue alongside breathtaking cityscape views at Koreatown's Gaonnuri. I'm also at-the-ready for an even more generous helping of Korean BBQ -- sans the view -- at the miraculous Hahm Ji Bach in Murray Hill, Queens, where the meat is first-rate and the banchan keep coming.

Indonesian Rijsttafel is a must if I'm in Amsterdam, but I've only been disappointed by bland imitations here in the States.

Aromatic Sri Lankan dishes like Kotthu Roti beckon to me from neighborhood spots in deepest, darkest Staten Island -- and I've been known to heed the call.

Then there is Indian aplenty in Manhattan's Curry Hill, close to one of my client's offices, making it way too easy to duck into Chote Nawab or Pippali for a fix of Tandoori, Saag Paneer and Nan.

And we're back to Chinese. It's amazing how many Chinese restaurants in New York City truly suck. But, hit one of the city's three Chinatowns - especially the ones in Flushing, Queens and Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and it is be hard to be let down. In fact, I'm still dreaming about a recent dinner had with friends at Sunset Park's Lucky Eight. Complete with the obligatory Lazy Susan and Tsing Tao beers, we feasted on the restaurant's signature dish - the Pride of Lucky Eight - a flavorful stir-fry of abalone, squid and dried scallop, alongside shitakes, scallions and Chinese celery. We accompanied that with a rich mix of razor clams sauteed with Chinese flowering chives in a black bean sauce, a garlicky plate of sauteed snow pea leaves, and a heaping steamer of sticky rice with bits of sweet Chinese sausage and loads of velvety chicken meat.

I'm still on the hunt for the perfect Shanghai soup dumpling. But, I've actually had them in Shanghai, so I'm probably a bit too spoiled on that front.

Any which way, I don't see my Asian food enthusiasm waning in 2015. So, let me know when you're ready to grab a pair of chopsticks and join me.

Wien, Wine & Swine

There are many things I expect when visiting a major metropolitan capital. A vineyard within the city limits is not one of them. So, when I learned that notable wineries exist within Vienna's borders, a "must-do" was added to my list. Thankfully, a friend at the Austrian Wine Commission, knew just the winery I should visit -- Mayer am Pfarrplatz.

Operating since 1683, boasting a wine tavern that was once home to Beethoven, as well as one of the most elegant and venerated restaurants in the city, I was nothing if not ecstatic when the winery's sales director said the harvest had just been finished in the wee hours - and asked if I would mind joining him to quickly pay call on a few of the winemakers up in the fields. As we got out of the car, he seemed a bit concerned that my romantic ideal of an Austrian winery might be shattered by the reality of harvest-time...

As you can see from the photo above, it most certainly wasn't. The charmer in the photo is one of Mayer am Pfarrplatz's wine makers, and there were two more in tow, along with a couple of workers, who were all in the midst of setting up a celebratory morning picnic.

Now, I'm sure you can spy the raw, hulking burgers on the table, cans of beer, and a big bottle of water, but you really need to look past all that...

There she is!

Serious comradery was at play, as the men traded off in gently and lovingly turning her by the fire pit. My mouth was watering. But it was only 11:30am, and that pig was a while off from being cooked through.

Luckily though, further in the distance, something was ready for the eating...

Sublime piggy innards were bubbling away in a cast iron pan, just calling my name.

The gents seemed to be duly impressed that I wanted a taste and then offered to pour me a shot to go alongside.

A shot?

Yup. That "bottle of water" was actually a bottle of Romanian firewater, so a round of shots were in order. I followed that up with a beer and ripped off a hunk of good bread to grab meaty chunks of liver and tripe straight out of the pan.

Now tell me: How do you follow-up a killer brunch of that magnitude?

With a tour through some scenic vineyards followed by a wine tasting...

Gorgeous Riesling, Gelber Muskateller, Gruner Veltliner, Wiener Gemischter Satz, and fresh, young Junger Weiner were had before I headed back into town with a full tummy and lingering buzz.

Enchanted as I was by the morning of offal, Romanian palinka, and Weiselberger beer, it was the wine that I longed for as soon as I got back to the States. And, thanks to Wine Searcher and Heights Chateau, I now have a fridge stocked with bottles of Mayer am Pfarrplatz Wiener Gemischter Satz.

And, if someone wants to bring over some piggy kidneys and European moonshine, we'll have the makings of a righteous morning, to say the least.

Viennoiserie

Vienna is a city rich in history, brimming with baroque grandeur and spirited Secessionist influences. It's also a European capital celebrated for its sweet tooth. So, how could I resist the opportunity to get together with a noted pastry chef when I hit town?

My Brooklyn pal Peter had worked with French-born pastry chef Pierre Reboul a while back, when they both were in the kitchen at New York's Wallsé. A Facebook note, a few phone calls, a trip across the ocean, and a train ride from Budapest later, and I was all set.

I arrived late afternoon at the new upscale cafe from the Austrian bakery chain Ströck just as the pastry team was finishing up from a long day of baking; a day that started in the wee hours of the morning. After stints at Café Central and the Salzburg outpost of Demel, Chef Reboul now helmed the chain's patisserie operations -- with a special focus on the cafe's sweeter offerings -- and this was a chance to take in his handiwork. Surveying gleaming cases filled with a variety of breads, confections, tarts and more, I couldn't help but ask which among these beauties was his favorite. Pierre's pride and joy? He answered without pause: the croissants.

But instead of indulging in the depth and breadth of Pierre's patisserie creations, we sipped on local wines and talked about the business of dining in "The Imperial City." And once we'd felt that enough talk had been had, we headed into the center of town, so he could show me a bit of what 1st District had to offer. First stop - the grande dame of Viennese pastry and chocolate, Demel.

The shop's rooms were chock-a-block with enticingly wrapped chocolates, graceful tins of delicate miniature cookies, and beautiful boxes of candied violets. The cafe was in the back, along with a magnificent kitchen protected by glass -- a jewel case of sorts -- where we stood to watch young pastry chefs expertly decorate tray after tray of cookies.

We sat ever so briefly to enjoy a Melange, Austria's version of a Cappuccino, and then Pierre wanted me to see another old stomping ground, Café Central. A bustling hot spot since 1876, the place was regal to say the least -- and packed to the gills. We opted to simply ogle at the restaurant's opulent dessert display, decked out with gorgeous renditions of Sacher Torte, Punschkrapfen, Apple Strudel and Esterházy Torte.

With visions of sweets still dancing in my head, Pierre led me down the street and through an elegant arcade passageway, until we arrived at a place without a dessert in sight. The spot was known as Vulcanothek, and it specialized in Austrian pork products -- namely, air-dried cured ham, matured for up to 27 months, with delicious results. Not wanting to limit ourselves simply to the ham, we ordered up a platter of several delicacies, including Asmonte cheese, pepper salami, cut loin, and more.

Marvelous as it was, I still wanted to get my sweet on.

The next day, I was a woman on a mission; one that might involve nougat, caramel, fruit, chocolate or nuts. I had most definitely visited some incredible pastry stops with Pierre, but I never actually ate a sweet at any of them. I had been delinquent in enjoying one of Vienna's most storied contributions to culture: kick-ass desserts.

Thankfully, a trip to Joseph Genuss, an bright, modern bakery and bistro seemed like it might just do the trick.

Eyeing shelves lined with dozens of different types of freshly baked breads, and cases overflowing with sumptuous tarts, eclairs and cakes, I settled on the oddest dessert I could find.

In German, it is called "Maroni Blätterteig Mit Vanille Krapferl." Doesn't even sound appealing, I know, but this confectionery was pure heaven on a piece of puff pastry -- a rectangle of buttery pastry goodness topped with a piping of intense chestnut puree, and crowned by sugar-crusted profiteroles filled with fragrant vanilla cream. A couple dabs of currant jam finished it off with a touch of color.

It wasn't your classic Viennese dessert, but it was most certainly the finest piece of pastry that I had on my trip.

Now, I simply need to find a pastry shop in New York that makes it too.

Well, that or plan another visit to Vienna. Yeah. Maybe another trip to Vienna is in order. I do need to finally eat some pastry at Demel and Café Central. And, there was a Pistachio-Filled Croissant at Ströck that seemed to be calling my name. (Happily "VittlesVamp" is the same in German.)

My Bartender in Budapest

I'm a picky eater. I'm an even a pickier drinker, so when I hit a barstool: game on. And, if you are a bartender who can bring it, you got me.

So it was for me at the Blue Fox Bar when I was introduced to the mad skills of Attila Felhő Felhősi. This man isn't just talented with a muddler and a shaker, he is creative and enthusiastic to such a degree that I wanted to put him in my luggage and take him back to Brooklyn, so I don't have to live without his brilliant - and potent - concoctions.

Just take a look at this stunning rendition of a Ramos Gin Fizz...

It put the Ramos Gin Fizz I had at New Orleans' Sazerac Bar to shame. His latest seasonal creation is a reworking of that old "Sex and the City" chestnut, the Cosmopolitan, in which a cucumber, rose pepper foam takes the drink to a whole other level.

So, do I need to go back to Budapest and pack this gentleman in my bag to get him to New York or is some savvy bar owner going to whisk him across the Atlantic for me, shaker in-hand?

A Taste of Budapest

No one prepared me for a typical late October morning in Budapest -- bright skies, but blustery and cold.

That, my friends, is a glass of Unicum, Hungary's traditional herbal amaro liquer. My first morning in Budapest was an especially frigid one and I was quickly informed by natives that I would be remiss if I didn't partake in a shot before I started my day.

Start my day it did, packing a wallop and warming the body, while it scorched my throat.

Needless to say, I didn't start scouring stores for little gift bottles for friends back home. (You can thank me later!)

Other tastes of Hungary were more to my liking, including some sampling of the wares at the city's bustling Central Market. Smokey paprika-crusted pork sausage was a particular favorite, as was a dry, mild "Gypsy" salami.

I also tried the classic Hungarian fried bread known as Langos, capped with chopped garlic, soft cheese and a slathering of sour cream. (Not light, but pretty darn addictive.)

A visit to the "pickle lady" in the market's basement led me to sample vinegary, spicy pickled peppers, along with orange nubbins of pickled carrot and mouth-puckering pieces of pickled cauliflower.

A short stroll over to the Jewish Quarter offered up a much sweeter treat, cake from Rachel Raj -- who is quite literally the Rachael Ray of Hungary.

The cake in question was Flodni, a layered confection made with squares of pastry crust alternating between generous helpings of honeyed poppy seeds, walnut paste, plum jam and a filling of slivered apples. Not too sugary, it almost ventured into savory territory.

Other great tastes around town included a luscious Duck Burger at a neighborhood Hungarian wine bar, made even richer by a topping of seared duck liver; a mammoth Pork Knuckle, the caramel-tinged skin blistered and crackling, at a hip city bistro; and a latte piled high with whipped cream at the grandest cafe I'd ever seen...

Not too shabby, eh? But do notice that I went for coffee, not Unicum -- not to say I didn't drink in Budapest.

More about that later...

My Go-To's: French Louie

You may have expected my next blog post to focus on my recent European adventures. Promise that you'll get your fill of Budapest and Vienna soon, but I have to admit that being away always makes me appreciate home and New York City all the more. So, I thought it only right to start this month with a look at another one of my NYC go-to's: French Louie, the Atlantic Avenue bistro sister to the down-home Carroll Gardens fave Buttermilk Channel.

The restaurant's entryway bar is welcoming and, if the weather mild, French Louie's expansive backyard patio is an irresistible spot to share a bottle of Picpoul de Pinet, order the kitchen's heavenly Gougeres and end up lingering over a leisurely dinner that ends with glasses of chilled Poire Williams -- or come when the sun is shining and tuck into a well-earned weekend brunch.

Considering the Bloody Mary snapshot above, you can safely assume that I'm going to talk more about the latter. And, since the photo is of one of the most classic brunch cocktails around, you might assume that French Louie focuses on the classics as well, albeit with a Parisian accent.

This assumption would be incorrect.

No Croque Monsieur or baskets of Croissants here. Why should there be, when the kitchen can instead bring you a petite dish filled with warm Orange Madeleines fresh from the oven?

Or if that sounds too conventional, how about something from the garden? Order up a small plate of deep pink, crisp radishes, ready to dip into creamery butter that's been showered in black olive shavings.

So simple, but this addictive combination is crunchy, bitter, rich, sweet and salty all at once.

And, if you didn't get enough of a veggie fix with that starter, perhaps you'll need to try the Socca, a savory chickpea pancake topped with bits of roasted cauliflower, nutty freekeh, slivers of sauteed onion, chopped herbs and two perfectly cooked sunnyside-up eggs.

Must admit that this Mediterranean delicacy, by way of the Côte d’Azur, had never been on my radar screen before dining at French Louie. Now I wonder why it isn't on restaurant menus across the city.

Classics do emerge on the menu from time to time, but usually with a twist -- as with the restaurant's Cordon Bleu, a Gallic staple reinvented with a nod to culinary traditions below the Mason-Dixon Line.

It's a gobsmacking tower of succulent fried chicken breast, thin slices of Benton's country ham, melted Gruyere, decadent Mornay sauce and a leaf or two of Bibb lettuce so you can pretend that there is some small part of this dish that's healthy. Let's be clear: healthy this is not, but delicious it is.

My recommendation? Bring along a few friends to attack it with you and then walk across the Brooklyn Bridge afterwards.

Then make plans to return for dinner, when -- thank goodness -- the dish isn't on the menu and you can turn your attention to lighter fare like a Roasted Carrot and Beet Salad with a Pistachio and Coconut Vinaigrette or Flounder Grenobloise. Then again, the Pork and Rabbit Rillettes sounds pretty good, and so do the Anchovy Frites with Crispy Lemons and Aioli.

Maybe I should just start walking across the Brooklyn Bridge now.

Visiting Vienna

And, after what has hopefully been a marvelous trip to Budapest, I should have made my way to Vienna today. Looking forward to even more grand coffee houses, a visit to the Mayer am Pfarrplatz winery - within the city limits - and some serious Weiner Schnitzel!

Will be home next week, recovering from drinking copious amounts of Gruner Veltliner, I'm sure. But, I do plan on posting tales of my recent European exploits!

Budapest Bound

If all goes well with my flight, I should be in Hungary's capitol city. Expect reports on sumptuous coffee houses, stylish "ruin" bars, an Elvis Costello concert at the Palace of Arts, and - of course - Chicken Paprikash, when I return.

Going Sweet on Eggs

And you thought I only ate meat-centric dishes in Montreal, didn't you? I think not. I also had dessert. Meat-free dessert.

The Pecan Pie at Au Pied de Cochon was killer. An apple concoction with Cider Sorbet at Liverpool House was mind-blowing.

But, my favorite had to be the Portuguese Egg Tart that I tried in Old Town Montreal at a sun-filled cafe called Cantinho de Lisboa. These beauties, pictured above, were all at once buttery, flaky goodness, and rich, custardy, vanilla-scented decadence. In fact, they may have just kicked my all-time favorite Portuguese Egg Tarts in New York's Flushing Chinatown to the curb...

That said, I do have to admit that New Flushing Bakery knows what it's doing. And, that "buy three, get one free" deal most definitely makes them one of the best dessert bargains in New York. Besides, the 7 train has yet to make it to Montreal.

Still, perhaps what I really need to do is jump flights to Macau and Lisbon for the ultimate Portuguese Egg Tart taste test showdown.

That sounds like a vacation plan in the making for 2015. Who's with me?

Meatropolis Montreal

I pity the vegan that lives in Montreal.

This is not a city for those that scorn meat, meat byproducts and the glories of dairy. Heck, this is a town that can't leave a plate french fries well enough alone. They ladle beef gravy atop and then generously sprinkle with fresh squeaky cheese curds. Christened Poutine, this "drunken man's best friend" is eaten in many different permutations across Quebec -- but I venture to guess that not one version is vegan-friendly.

And, rightly so.

If anything, these culinarian Quebecois take it up a notch and fry up their match-stick lovelies in duck fat. Or, if you're lucky enough to be dining at Au Pied de Cochon, your Poutine might be adorned by a slab of seared foie gras.

The ultimate meat-rific must-do in Montreal though, is indisputably a Smoked Beef Sandwich on Rye at Schwartz's Deli in the Mile End district. A hulking thing of majestic Judaic beauty, only a half-sour pickle and vinegary cole slaw are necessary accompaniments. It's all about the meat -- meat so glorious and good that even seeing a pile of it, wobbly, bright red, fresh from the smoker, being being dragged up front in a huge plastic garbage bin, didn't put me off. It only made me want it more.

I know. I'm sick.

But at least I'm not a vegan!

I was even more thankful for that, when I descended upon Little Burgundy for dinner at Liverpool House. My dining companion has a shellfish allergy, so we eschewed the restaurant's famous Lobster Spaghetti and ordered up a classic Choucroute Garni...

You see the picture above, yes? So, do I really need to tell you that this pork-centric platter was freakin' amazing? Housemade sausages, ready to dip into brown, biting mustard, served alongside soft, wilting sauerkraut, thick slices of juicy pork loin, chunks of fork-tender potatoes and a hunk of smoked pork belly.

The only way to get meatier was to actually grab a seat at Au Pied de Cochon's bar for a meal that started with a glass of homemade Maple Soda, enriched with a slug of Bourbon, joined by that decadent Poutine with Foie Gras dish I mentioned earlier. Then we moved onto Oxtail Tartare...

And, then rounded out the meat-apalooza with a dish aptly named "Duck in Can."

You. Want. This.

It is an ugly dish, so the photos just didn't look appetizing enough to place here. Yet, appetizing this dish is. Oh, so appetizing. We're talking about a lovingly seared duck breast placed in a can alongside a fat lobe of foie gras, sprigs of fresh thyme, roasted garlic and a balsamic demi-glace to hold it all together. Once safely sealed, the “Canard en Conserve” is boiled in water for 25 minutes, cracked open table side and dumped onto a plate graced with a dab of pureed celeriac and bits of toasted baguette.

We wiped the plate clean.

Then, and only then, did the one vegan course of the evening arrive.

Calvados.

Hmmm...Maybe it wouldn't be too bad being a vegan in Montreal after all.

My Go-To's: Waterfront Ale House

Even in an era of rotating hipster havens and designer resto pop-ups, sometimes the oldies are still the goodies.

I've been going to Waterfront Ale House on Atlantic Avenue for over 15 years, which is more than enough time to know that this stalwart Brooklyn Heights pub is a casual, comfort food-focused charmer. From kickin' Barbeque Spareribs and a killer French Dip with Fried Onions and Melted Farm House Cheddar Cheese, to a heaping platter of Nachos topped with Venison Chili and a bamboo steamer filled with delicate Steamed Vegetable Dumplings, the menu hits all the right "neighborhood saloon goes to the CIA" notes.

And, for all the time that I've called Waterfront Ale House a "go-to," I've been privileged to know one of the most winning bartenders in the borough -- Mary Haegele. A fixture behind the bar at Waterfront Ale House for more than 16 years, Mary's cheery smile and way with a cocktail shaker makes her one of the restaurant's prime attractions.

Pictured above, she is particularly adored for her ongoing Friday night "Drink of the Day" series, when regulars jockey for positions at the bar to try her latest potent concoction. Using housemade syrups and infused liquors that take advantage of a range of ingredients like ginger, black pepper, apples, cinnamon, lemongrass, cilantro, raspberries, rarely do you you get to see the same drink hit the Friday specials list more than once.

I know you're about to ask about the "ale" at the Waterfront Ale House, and I can guarantee you that they have craft beers aplenty. But, cocktails have always had their place at the bar. In fact, the "Libations Goddess" herself, Audrey Saunders, used to be behind the bar. And, owner Sam Barbieri makes an Eggnog that puts the ho-ho-ho in the holidays with bourbon, three kinds of rum, and cognac for good measure.

So, even if you can't make it to the bar next Friday night, you can be assured of a fine drink whether Mary is on the scene with her "Drink of the Day" or not. And, I heartily recommend that you order up a sandwich with their 14-Hour Hickory Smoked Beef Brisket while you're at it too.

Portlandia - The Coffee

I know. It seems like I've fallen and can't get up. Blame it on a crazy work schedule and some major dental issues that have hit me hard as of late.

Just don't blame it on the caffeine supply in Portland, Oregon.

To finish off the recap on my trip to the Northwest, I do have to give it up to Portland when it comes to the city's coffee scene. I didn't have a bad cup while I was there. From Heart Coffee Roasters to Stumptown to Courier Coffee to Ristretto Roasters, this was the stuff.

But, what about the rest of the city?

Well, um, it kinda felt a lot like Williamsburg with a lot of woodsy, outdoorsy paraphernalia thrown in for good measure. And, no, I'm not talking about Williamsburg, Virginia -- where I could get all sortsa colonial and learn to shoe a horse. (Then again, I'm pretty sure that there are hipsters in both Williamsburg, Brooklyn and Portland, Oregon that can teach me how to make artisanal horseshoes.)

Yup. Portland even lays claim to a kick-ass gluten and dairy free bakery where I enjoyed a slice of brilliant Coconut-Pineapple Bread, and barkeeps that make glorious craft cocktails while enrobed in technicolor tattoos.

How Billysburg can you get?!?

Made me wonder if I could find an L stop somewhere in the city. (Preferably right by an outpost of Coava Coffee Roasters...)