VittlesVamp

The Burgers of San Francisco

Change the "u" to an "e" in this post's title and I might be talking about the latest indie film starring Ben Stiller. Instead, I'm going to talk about a gaping hole in my life.

That hole is better known as my stomach -- a stomach which has gotten used to reveling in carnivorous carne delights during my August stay in Buenos Aires. Instead of visiting Argentina this summer, I spent the last two weeks of the month in San Francisco, where Kombucha was celebrated on every street corner.

My tastebuds and stomach did not like.

So, when a friend of a friend started waxing poetically about the city's many fine burgers, my ears perked up considerably. Thankfully, one stop -- Black Sands Brewery -- was literally right smack dab around the corner from the apartment where I was staying in Lower Haight. Their hamburger had been described to me as "a classed up In-N-Out." That description wasn't praise enough, as this was a specimen of beefy beauty. Pictured above, I'm sure you can see where the In-N-Out comparison isn't totally off-base, but one bite into this juicy double-patty, special sauce-laden lovely and you know that the ingredients are what bring this baby together. It's got gooey melted American cheese and shredded iceberg, which I recognize as a middling ingredients at best, but the quality of the meat in the smashed patties really shines through and the oozing and tang of the processed cheese and crunch of the cool lettuce just plain worked. This burger was "stellar" to say the least.

Another nearby hamburger fix was had at a popular burger and barbeque joint called 4505 Burgers & BBQ. Meat they had aplenty. I almost succumbed to the day's special of whole smoked hog, but I was on a burger quest, so a cheeseburger was had. This was a one quarter pound grass fed beef patty with leaves of iceberg, thin slices of onion, Gruyere cheese, and a couple slices of bacon on a griddled bun. It was good. Very good in fact. It was potentially made better by the seating situation, dining on picnic benches near the kitchen while sipping an ice cold IPA. Still, I'm giving it a "very good."

The last burger on my tour of the city, led me to the chainstore cluttered streets of the Marina on a day that topped 100 degrees. Despite the record-setting temperature, talk of Causwells' Americana Burger -- accompanied by a mound of frizzled onions -- was like a siren's call. The fact that the restaurant didn't have A/C (unsurprising for a city that rarely breaks 68 in August) didn't deter. And biting into its two meaty patties, grease dribbling down my chin, I was glad I'd braved the sweltering heat. That said, I do think it is the addition of the thin, crisp, fried onions, which I piled on top, that put this burger into "mighty fine" territory. Without them, I'm not sure the burger would have seemed so special.

These three burgers didn't quite make up for the summer's lack of Argentinian beef slathered in Chimichurri, but they most certainly took the edge off. And, I'm sure they did my arteries some good too! (Cue Ben Stiller coming in to hand me a glass of Kombucha.)

Juicing in Colorado

You see a sign like this on the side of a mountain and you're pulling into the parking lot. That's the long and the short of it.

The mountain in question was simply part of the "foothills" heading towards the Rocky Mountain National Park, but I was impressed by the scenery nonetheless. I was equally impressed by Colorado's cherry abundance. For a cherry fan, the Colorado Cherry Company in Lyons was a tart, sweet, bright red slice of heaven. And, yes, Cherry Pie was on hand, as was Cherry Butter, Cherry Jam, Cherry Chipotle Hot Sauce, and much much more. But, it was the juice that called to me...

I juiced my way through the Rockies, going all in on the Tart Red Cherry Juice. Can't call it a "juice cleanse" per se, but it was fine sipping accompanied by extremely fine scenery. And, since the Colorado Cherry Company ships, you might be seeing some Cherry Juice cocktail experimentation in Brooklyn quite soon.

Ramen of Summer

Humidity that you can cut with a knife. Temperatures hovering around 90 degrees fahrenheit. No air conditioning. A steaming hot bowl of soup.

Doesn't sound like a combination that would illicit pleasure. But, pleasure was had.

My "in-the-know" food-riffic friend Peter led the way. It was a hot sticky summer evening and the man had a bowl of ramen on the brain. In specific, he couldn't stop raving about a new spot called Za-Ya Ramen at the far end of Court Street in the netherworld between Carroll Gardens, the Gowanus Expressway, and Red Hook. We had to go.

The place is barebones, but clean within an inch of its life. No A/C, so heat from the day and the open kitchen permeated the room.

Sweat aside, I soon felt transported by a small bowl of Zuke-don, ruby red raw tuna, served with sweet onions, scallions, and soy dressing on bed of warm rice. Delicate and rich all at once. Then we tucked into a plate of Chicken Karaage, perfectly crisp pieces of boneless fried chicken with spicy mayo for dipping.

Then came the big bowls, mine brimming with a vegetable broth so intense that it was creamy and packed with umami. It was served with sweet corn, shiitake mushrooms, scallions, cucumber, lotus root chips, and a soft-boiled egg for good measure. And then there were the noodles, delectable noodles with a bit of give and chew. I wanted the slurping to go on forever.

Do I wish that Za-Ya Ramen had air-conditioning? Yes. But, that won't stop me from slurping up more of their genius ramen before autumn arrives. It's so worth it.

A Happy Meal in Curry Hill

Did you think I got my fill of Indian cuisine in India? Hell to the no!

Luckily for me, one of my clients is located in the middle of Manhattan's Curry Hill, allowing for easy access to top-notch Indian eats without the 20 hour flight. One of my fave menu picks? A lunchtime thali. What's "thali" you ask? Why it's a platter with numerous tastes of several different dishes - a prix fixe of sorts. You could even liken it to an Indian pu pu platter - or to my mind, the happiest of Happy Meals.

No decisions to be made. A wide array of flavors and textures. Well-priced. All in all, a winner lunch.

Still need to be convinced? Take a look at the thali above, from Pippali on East 27th Street.

I just can't imagine any all-you-can-eat Indian buffet being as soul satisfying. To be sure, it is a feast for the stomach. But, it is also a feast for the eyes.

Let me know if you're game to try one. If so, I'm all in on a thali lunch date!

My Go To's: Noodle Pudding

It's taken a while for me to write a proper post about my all-time favorite neighborhood Italian go-to. Why? My excuse has always been that I can never get a good photo of the food at dinner. Just too dark. But really, I might just have wanted to keep the place to myself.

Well, the latter has been shot to hell. A lot of people are "in the know" about Brooklyn Heights' Noodle Pudding. That's right: Noodle Pudding. Horrible name for an Italian restaurant - a direct translation of owner Tony Migliaccio's last name. But, oh, what a fantastic neighborhood spot! So good that people line up to wait for a table, despite its cash-only policy and low-key vibe.

Everything is fresh. Seriously fresh.

Vinnie's Montauk Bass on the menu? It was likely brought into the restaurant by Vinnie that morning, still flapping its gils.

The Tagliata, a dish of sliced "fresh meat" prime rib with rock salt and rosemary, accompanied by super crispy potatoes and thin green beans, is a carnivore's dream come true.

And, the pastas? Just take a gander of the snapshot above. Homemade Garganelli, served Cacio e Pepe-style with farm-fresh asparagus and a bright yellow egg yolk. The risottos are equally gorgeous.

Dessert isn't an afterthought either, with solid classics like Tiramisu at-the-ready. Still, I'm often content with a few slices of sweet watermelon from the kitchen. And, if nothing sweet from the kitchen appeals that evening, there is nothing wrong with an espresso and shot of Sambuca to finish off a classic Italian meal in the County of Kings.

But, to be clear, I have yet to be disappointed by anything that comes out of Tony's kitchen. Noodle Pudding's menu is ever-changing based on what's best at the market that day - and that unwavering commitment to quality is evident on the plate.

What doesn't change at Noodle Pudding, for the most part, is the staff. Tony keeps very good people. Great people. People I like to see behind the bar and table-side on a regular basis.

Oh, and he keeps a bevy of regular customers too. So, regular, that he put small brass plaques on the bar to mark out a couple of regulars' territory. (I know your next question. I'm there often, but I don't warrant a plaque!)

There. I did it. I wrote a post about Noodle Pudding. Don't think it'll land me plaque-qualifying status, but as long as I still can get a seat once in a while, I'll be just fine.

Welcoming Loretta To My Kitchen

Death reached my doorstep last week. My refrigerator died in an untimely fashion in the height of summer.

Aargh!

You don't know how good you have it until it's gone. And, my fridge and freezer was most certainly a goner. Hundreds of dollars of food needed to be tossed.

It was a sad day in my kitchen.

But, there was little time to mourn. As we all well-know from "The Lion King," the circle of life persists. A new refrigerator would be had.

I sought counsel from Consumer Reports and then placed an order for a LG French door unit that arrived late Friday. And, as the delivery team gently put the new refrigerator into place, I had an epiphany.

I had failed my previous fridge. It was a warhorse in my home, and yet I hadn't given it the love and admiration it deserved.

Things had been so different with another major kitchen appliance: my trusty dishwasher. Within moments of it entering my home, I was besotted and immediately decided that a name was called for. What name? Sven. Seriously. I like thinking that Sven is my buff manservant, at-the-ready, with dish cleaning expertise. Five course dinner party for six? Clean-up isn't a worry. "Make it all clean for me, Sven!," I cry out. And, he does.

It's a great relationship - and one, I suddenly realized, that had been going for about a decade.

Now, I need to make the same kind of commitment to the newest appliance in my home. So, please meet Loretta. She is beautiful and tough - and can be cold as ice when she needs to be (which is always).

She is going to fit in around here just fine!

The Importance of Eating Oysters

Only a few years ago, freshly shucked oysters were a rarity on New York City menus. Platters of uncooked bivalves were solely the purview of seafood specialists like the Grand Central Oyster Bar or Soho's Aquagrill.

No more.

Oyster happy hours are everywhere in these days, and I am delighted by the trend. I never tire of oysters. There are so many kinds to enjoy and they have such evocative names -- from Moonstone to Malpeque and Belon to Beau Soliel. Slurping down a half-dozen sweet or salty beauties is a joyful endeavor. It's like a brief seaside trip without getting sand where it doesn't belong.

I'm partial to West Coast lovelies like Kumamotos, but I can be taken by a plump East Coaster as well. All depends on the mood -- the mood and the mignonette.

And, is it true about oysters putting you in the mood for love?

Depends on my mood, the mignonette, the Moonstones, the Malpeques, and the man in question.

Garden & Gun & Good Eating

Visitors to my Brooklyn apartment are typically treated to a healthy dose of hospitality. Often that comes with a shaken or stirred cocktail, nibbles aplenty, and once in a while it arrives with a flurry of coursed out dishes meant to tempt, soothe, and delight.

And, typically, new visitors to my home are not only struck by the hospitality at Chez Vamp, but are also taken by a collection of magazines on my coffee table -- a pile of Garden & Gun issues that sport cover photos of hunting dogs, Southern beach scenes, and mouthwatering food and drink from below the Mason-Dixon line.

What is a nice gal in New York City doing with a subscription to a magazine called -- of all things -- Garden & Gun?

Did you not just read the earlier sentence about the dogs, beaches, and food?!?

This is a magazine about the modern South -- but a bit mythologized and curated by design. From tales of roadtriping and partying from New Orleans-based author Julia Reed to an essay of a bad dog gone good by non-fiction writer S. C. Gwynne to thoughts on Mardi Gras and the importance of bees from literary legend and humorist Roy Blount Jr, the writing is top-notch.

Plus, a wealth of insights on Southern travel, books, music, and more.

And, then there are the photos. Lush. Sly. Transporting.

Oh, and did I mention the recipes?

More than once, the magazine has inspired me to whip up a bit of Dixie. Most recently, I tried my hand at making James Beard Award winning cookbook author Virginia Willis' cast-iron skillet Blueberry Cobbler (pictured above).

It was divine. Are you surprised?

I anticipate that my kitchen will be taking many a "trip down South" this summer, compliments of recipes and inspiration from Garden & Gun. If you're lucky, you'll get an invite to my table.

Word to the wise though: don't mock the mag. It might not be the hand that feeds you, but it's certainly feeding this home cook's imagination.

Take a Dip

It's getting warm out there. It's time for rooftops, chilled rosé, and a cool dip. And, yes, you know I'm referring to the foodstuff rather than a dip in the pool -- not that I couldn't go for both.

The dip pictured above is of the layered variety, Spanish escalivada -- basically, a blend of smokey grilled eggplant, red bell peppers and onions -- spooned over labne, and showered with a mixture of bright green herbs. I'm a big fan of labne, in all its thick yogurty tartness, serving as a rich first layer, supporting anything from a green olive tapenade to toasted walnuts with pomegranate seeds and fresh dill.

And then there are the Greeks. Yup, we're talking taramasalata packed with roe, garlicky skordalia, and creamy tzatziki. Hummus and baba ganoush, classics that need no introduction, straddle Greece and the Middle East in their dippable glory.

Then, of course, we have the all-Americans -- spinach dip and onion dip -- which are perennial winners.

And, what will I be dipping into this summer? Will give that a think -- an likely share some recipes along the way.

Toasting in Sonoma

I went to Sonoma. I had wine. I had a lot of wine. Yet, my most memorable toast didn't include the clinking of glasses. It was literally just, well, toast.

I was on kitchen duty at the elegant farmhouse we rented. What was I to make for breakfast among the vines and olive groves? Toast was on the morning menu.

Of course, Avocado Toast was a must-do, dusted with cumin and topped with a sunny-side egg, oozing bright sunshine yellow across the plate. But, I think the Ricotta Toast was my fave. Pictured above, I slathered the grilled sourdough slices with fresh, soft ricotta cheese, sprinkled on some fleur de sel, black pepper, and orange zest, and then finished it off with a drizzle of honey.

Come to think of it, maybe we should have raised our mugs of coffee to toast the toast.

Will have to remember to do that the next time I'm whipping up Ricotta Toast in Sonoma. (And you know there will be a next time!)

Eating in India

You are expecting me to regale you with tales of an Indian wedding feast in Bangalore. Sorry to disappoint, but my friends' "Big Indian Wedding" is a blur of joyful color, laughter, and love -- and food was only a small part of the spectacle.

Instead, what stuck with me on the culinary front in Bangalore were glimpses of market vendors down a winding path, and the image of a smiling young boy selling all manner of crisps in a small storefront in a busy commercial zone...

And, the meal that haunts me still was had on the veranda of a beach house in Goa. It was breakfast among friends post-wedding. It consisted of a bright yellow curry of potatoes and peas, coconut chutney, and freshly made Poori bread that surely is the food of the gods...

All at once hot, puffy, airy, and rich, we couldn't get enough. Layer the golden, poofed beauties with a bit of the potato and chutney -- toss an egg on for good measure -- and roll it up to make a newfangled, irresistible Indian breakfast taco. Some were even more sacrilege, slathering Nutella and slicing bananas atop.

And, the Poori kept coming.

And, we kept eating -- eating until there was no more.

It certainly didn't make for a traditional Goan start to the day, but it was the most giddy, glorious breakfast I can recall. Isn't that what a meal with friends should be?

Foodgasm in Bangkok - Pt. 2

What's better than going to a world-renowned food market in Bangkok?

Going to said market with a local chef by your side.

Luckily, my hotel was keen on making my foodie dreams come true and the Lebua's Thai Chef de Cuisine Prayong Khundongling graciously escorted me to Or Tor Kor Market, guiding me through colorful aisles filled with pristine produce, dried fish and seafood piled high like jewels, bags of every type of rice imaginable...

...stalls packed with mangosteens and Thai rose apples, bottles of freshly pressed sugarcane juice, tray after tray of just-laid and pink preserved eggs...

...whole roasted ducks and chickens, bowls overflowing with dried chili peppers, and enough platters of Thai specialities to keep anyone happily grazing for days...

And, as if that wasn't enough to get my foodie on, Chef Khundongling whisked me away from the market and back to the hotel kitchen to teach me how to make a few regional dishes, including Gaeng Kiew Wan Khae (Thai Green Curry with Lamb), and Yam-Sam O (Pomelo Salad with Prawns)...

It made for a swoon-worthy lunch.

I followed that up with an all-important local tradition - Thai massage.

Two-hours of brilliant stretching and pummeling later and I was ready for another hard-hitting session of relaxing by the pool with a G&T in hand.

And, after all that, a final dinner in Bangkok meant hailing a cab and heading over to one of the most popular restaurants in town - Issaya Siamese Club. Just off a small side street, the restaurant is the flagship of famed Thai chef, cookbook author, and TV personality Ian Kittichai. Hidden from view until you walk through its gates, Issaya ushers guests through a lush garden, onto a magical terrace, and into an exquisite dining room brimming with tropical flowers and a mix of Thai and Moroccan antiques.

Oh, and then there's the meal. What a meal!

A blur of beautiful plating, intoxicating aromas, and intense flavors, I had a hard time not moaning at my table, especially when tucking into dishes such as a fork-tender Australian Veal Cheek Simmered in House Blended Spices, served with a generous drizzling of coconut milk and kaffir lime leaves.

Okay, I may have moaned a little. And, yes, it might have gotten me a bit of attention.

But, at least some of that attention was from Chef Kittichai himself, just returned from snagging number 21 at the 2017 Awards for the Top 50 Restaurants in Asia. He was utterly charming and I was delighted to thank him for such an amazing dinner. He smiled and thought it wise to send me off with a special opportunity to continue my Bangkok foodgasm at home...

...presenting me with a signed copy of his Issaya Siamese Club Cookbook.

So, I may be back in Brooklyn, but New York has plenty of Thai groceries available, and I'm armed with some mighty fine recipes.

There's no reason for this foodgasm to stop now - or ever.