VittlesVamp

Portlandia - The Farmers Market

A recent West Coast business trip afforded me the privilege of a quick weekend getaway to Portland to see friends and discover whether or not the city is truly "Brooklyn lite," or if Brooklyn is actually "Portland heavy."

More on that soon.

Today's post is simply focused on snapshots of one of the city's most impressive features.

Love or hate the city's laid-back, tribal-tattooed and organic-obsessive sensibilities, there is no question that Portland knows how to put together one hell of a gorgeous farmer's market. And, these pictures speak for themselves...

And, then there was this...

Yeah. No surprise here. The city has a cage-free, compost-or-die rep for a reason.

Get Your Fine Self Over to Shelsky's of Brooklyn

I'm so not kidding. See that photo up there? It's a photo of a New Catch Holland Herring from Shelsky's with all of the classic accoutrement, namely finely diced sweet onion and minced pickle.

This stuff isn't just good: it is fish butter.

Strike that.

It is fish butt-aaah. (Emphasis on the "butt" if you throw in too many bagels schmeared with Ben's Cream Cheese on the side, along with a dozen house-baked Chocolate Babka Muffins.)

And, if Shelsky's is out of the New Catch Holland Herring (it has a ridiculously small season), they have plenty of other herring to offer. I'm a bit leery of the Fiery Jamaican Jerk Herring, but the French Oak-Smoked Herring has been known to illicit oohs and aahs from yours truly.

Then there is their righteous Smoked Whitefish Salad, smoked salmon options that run the gamut from Irish Double-Cured Organic Salmon to House-Cured Szechuan Kung Pao Salmon to classic Belly Lox, and let's not forget faves like Sable, Fancy Lake Sturgeon and Bering Cisco.

And, if you're inept at piling all of these tasty trappings onto a bagel, they have experts there who can do it for you, with a hunger-inducing menu of sandwiches like the Fancy Pants, featuring the above-mentioned Fancy Lake Sturgeon, as well as House-Cured Gravlax, Ben’s Cream Cheese, Tomato and Red Onion served on a Bagel or Bialy.

Good stuff.

Strike that.

Great stuff.

A Strawberry That Tastes Like A Strawberry

It's amazing how easily I forget what a real strawberry tastes like. As Brooklyn's streets are piled high with slush and snow, I am completely satisfied with my supermarket berries from Chile. Red, uniform and slightly sweet, they are what pass as delicious when the wind chill is below 25 degrees.

Fast forward to spring and a visit to my neighborhood greenmarket, where local berries, bursting with juicy sweetness are lined up in basket after basket, waiting to be downed in various forms -- chopped and tossed into the buttery batter of a Honey Pound Cake, or cut into slivers for a sunny addition to a Baby Spinach Salad with Goat Cheese, or simply sliced and heaped in a bowl with a splash or two of good Balsamic vinegar.

For now, I will dive in and enjoy berries as they were intended. Yet, I know as the autumn returns, my tastebuds will forget -- a convenient amnesia of sorts -- until springtime rolls around again and the strawberries are ripe and ready.

My Go-To's: The Bar at Otto

I know a lot of people who are nuts for Mario Batali's celebrated NYC hot spot Babbo. Needless to say, it is a lovely restaurant. Yet, I'm much more enamored with its casual cousin a few short blocks away -- Otto.

For years now, Otto -- or I should say "the bar at Otto" -- has been a regular go-to destination for many a lunch or dinner. In fact, I have a standing birthday lunch and Christmas Eve tradition at the restaurant's long marble counter, where I usually tuck into a number of the kitchen's glorious takes on veggies of the season, or "Verdure" as they are called on the menu. Whether I order all-year faves like Eggplant Caponatina and Cauliflower alla Siciliana, or venture into more seasonal selections like early summer's Asparagus & Pecorino and Corn & Fregola, I am always struck by the fresh, intense flavors that each little dish brings. And, then if I can't resist, I may have to dive into a wafer-thin Vongole Pizza topped with clams, garlic and mozzarella, or go for a twirl of my fork into a hearty rendition of Spaghetti all'Amatriciana.

And, did I mention the cheese that comes with marinated cherries, stewed apricots with chili pepper flakes, and a crack cocaine-like drizzle of truffle honey?

My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Now, you may ask why I specifically cite the restaurant's bar as my "go-to" rather than the entire pizzeria and enoteca itself. That's easy: Dennis, Frank and John, Otto's trifecta of amiable bartenders. No matter which one is behind the bar, they make you feel at home as soon as you sidle up, and are more than delighted to have you taste every gorgeous vino on the list until you find one that strikes your fancy. Don't want vino? How about a concoction known as a Bitter Wifey, marrying Bourbon with Mandarin Napoleon and OJ?

In addition, I have to say that there is also something about the buzzy cacophony in the bar area that simply makes me happy.

Oh, and one more thing...

Otto is home to one of the world's most remarkable gelato masters -- Meredith Kurtzman.

Want to try a Salty Peanut Tartufo, layered with bits of brilliant chocolate cake, Salty Peanut Gelato, butterscotch and milk chocolate?

Or how about an Olive Oil Coppetta comprised of Tangerine Sorbetto, Olive Oil Gelato, housemade fennel brittle, tart lime curd and blood oranges?

Then again, what about a lip-smacking twosome of rich Creme Fraiche Gelato and refreshing Cantaloupe Sorbetto?

'Nuff said.

Barcelona By Way Of Brooklyn

There is nothing like a trip to Europe without a passport and jet lag. Not that I wouldn't want to hop aboard a plane bound for Barcelona or Madrid right now, but I was lucky enough to get a taste of el estilo de vida Español when a bevy of foodie friends descended upon Chez Vamp for a Spanish feast that was nothing short of exquisite.

There was Paella, of course -- in this case, graced with wild Patagonia Shrimp, Monkfish Cheeks and Littleneck Oysters. Admittedly, that was the low point of the Spanish groaning board. (What can I say? It may look beautiful above, but my socarrat skills are sorely lacking.)

My pals were really the ones that made this dinner sing, with an array of tapas and pinxtos that would make a Catalan proud. Heck, we even indulged in a jar of Banderillas -- little plastic swords balancing tiny sour pickles, slivers of sweet red pepper, olives and pickled onions. Downed in one briny, mouthpuckering bite, we moved on to attack the rest of the Barcelonean banquet.

A major highlight: a platter laden with wafer-thin ruby red slices of Jamon Iberico Bellota, Jamon Serrano and Serrano de Lomo. It was all gobbled up within minutes of being laid on the table.

Thankfully, there was more to come. Much more.

Vegetables took centerstage long enough for us to pretend that maybe we were eating healthy. (Didn't I hear something about the Mediterranean Diet being great for your waistline?) There were Grilled Artichoke Hearts with brightening splash of fresh lemon juice, a hearty Tortilla Espanol and Steamed Broccoli with the traditional red pepper Romesco Sauce, warmed with toasted hazelnuts.

Then, bringing us back to the sea, we oohed and ahhed over a gorgeous plate of Razor Clam shells stuffed with diced clam meat along with chopped eggs, a garlic aioli and fennel fronds...

And, yes, there was dessert too. Pears poached in Sherry, served with Turron Ice Cream and topped with toasted almonds and dried cherries.

It was all quite splendid. The recipe most requested at the evening's end? No surprise: my Sangria.

Didn't I mention that I stirred up a pitcher at the night's onset? No? Well, perhaps that's because it was gone even quicker than the platter of Spanish ham.

So, here it is. May it quench your thirst and put a bit of Flamenco in your footstep all summer long...

Sangria

1 bottle Spanish red wine
1/2 cup brandy
3/4 cup triple sec
1 cup orange juice
1/2 Granny Smith apple
1/2 orange
6 strawberries

Pour wine, brandy, triple sec and orange juice into a larger pitcher. Stir. Add a cup of ice and the fruit cut into bite-sized chunks. Allow to chill the fridge for at least an hour, so the fruit gets soaked through with the Sangria mixture. Serve in glassed filled with ice.

The Truth About Mama Vamp In New Orleans

I know what you're expecting. I was expecting it too. I thought Mama Vamp would have her socks knocked off by the food and drink in New Orleans. And, with some of the fare in question, her socks made significant strides.

She reveled in the Rabbit and Dumplings and Wood-Fired Oysters with Chili-Garlic Butter at Chef Donald Link's Cochon.

She was equally impressed - if not more so - with Link's new seafood spot, Peche, where we downed Chilled Gulf Shrimp with rapturous glee and delighted in a plate of Smothered Catfish.

And, she most certainly took great pleasure in a round of Pimm's Cups at the touristy, yet wonderful Napoleon House.

Then there was the mind-blowing Friday lunch at Chef John Besh's magnificent August, which was topped off by not one, but three desserts, including the restaurant's swoon-worthy riff on Banana Pudding with Peanut Butter, Marshmallow and 'Nilla Wafer' Ice Cream.

There was also a plate of Fried Green Tomatoes at Elizabeth's in the Bywater that put a smile on Mama Vamp's face.

But all that - and even Cafe du Monde's Cafe au Lait and Beignets aside - it was the music that made Mama Vamp's trip a success. The enchanting twinkle in her eyes as she listened to the musical stylings of Antoine Diel at the Roosevelt Hotel was something I'd not seen before or since. (Mind you, that Beignet came awfully close.) But, Antoine and his repertoire of Cole Porter and Hoagy Carmichael songs had her grinning wider than the Cheshire cat and her toes were tapping with a rhythm that can only be fueled by pure joy.

Pure joy. If that isn't what New Orleans should be about, I don't know what is.

Laissez les bons temps rouler, Mama Vamp! You go!

The Other Other White Meat - Alligator

I've always considered myself an adventurous eater, but my dinner at The Explorers Club Annual Gala took my epicurean exploits to a whole other level. The evening opened up my palate to scorpions, goat brains, meal worms, maggots and other exotic nibbles. Truthfully though, it was the alligator that caught my eye and my taste buds.

I was a doubter at first, but I have to say that the alligators, pictured above in their 7-foot long glory, were downright delicious. Sort of a cross between eel and - you guessed it - chicken.

Keeping the gator momentum in play, a couple weeks back I was in Florida to visit Papa Vamp and spied some live alligators sunning themselves on nearby golf course.

Before I'd eaten one of those suckers, the sight of them would have made me dream of shoes and handbags. Now, I was simply thinking of dinner.

And, today I'm in New Orleans with Mama Vamp for a few days of food, drink and jazz -- and quite possibly, alligator. I have a reservation at Cochon for lunch later and I have to say that the kitchen's Fried Alligator with Chili Garlic Mayonnaise sounds awfully tempting.

Then again, I bet they could Cajun-up some maggots and they'd sound awfully tempting as well.

Then again, maybe not.

I'll stick with the alligator.

My Go-To's: Jack The Horse Tavern

Everyone wants to have a "place where everybody knows your name" in their nabe. I'm lucky enough to claim Jack the Horse Tavern as mine. A rustic, decidedly not-hip restaurant in North Brooklyn Heights, JtH offers a comfortable attitude, solid -- sometimes seriously inspired -- fare, and a bar program that makes the cocktail nerd in me smile.

Evidence of the latter is pictured above: a riff on the New Orleans classic known as the Pimm's Cup, except this one includes a bit of marmalade and a generous topping of Prosecco.

Speaking of New Orleans, head bartender Matt is formerly of Commander's Palace. Steve, the other mixologist behind the bar, was trained at James Beard Award-nominated Maison Premiere, the NOLA-influenced absinthe bar where Maxwell Britten mans the cocktail program. And, what could be more appropriate than that? Loyal readers may recall that I gave Britten his first media spotlight way back when -- when he was behind the bar at Jack the Horse Tavern himself.

And, now a moment for the food.

First off, a special shout out to Chef Tim Oltmans for his genius Macaroni & Cheese, served only as an appetizer, because it is too rich to possibly serve in larger portions without a cardiac specialist nearby. Other standbys that I adore? His gorgeously juicy Roasted Free-Range Half Chicken with Garlic Chive Potato Puree and Roasted Cauliflower, and the Grilled Berkshire Pork Chop with Mustard Spaetzle, Braised Red Cabbage and Roasted Apples.

Should I even mention brunch? Think not. Would prefer to keep that to myself (and the crowds that line up for JtH's Big Brioche French Toast, Shrimp & Grits, Eggs Orleans, and a side of Bacon, Bacon, Bacon!!!)

I must also send out special kudos to JtH front-of-the-house manager Ryan, who keeps everything moving so beautifully that there is nary a hiccup in sight. Besides, if a hiccup did present itself, he'd know just the potent drink or two to order you from the bar to set things to right.

So, what makes a "Go-To" even better in my book? A bit of careful expansion. Word is that JtH will be opening up a wee annex next door with -- drumroll please -- a raw bar. I for one look forward to sidling up to that bar. And, until then, sidle I will at JtH proper.

Why Isn't Chicken Paprikash The Must-Have Dish On Every Menu In NYC?

I'm serious here. When is the last time you had Chicken Paprikash? Done correctly, made with real Hungarian Paprika and a lot of love (not to mention sour cream), it is a killer dish.

Made it recently for an Austrian-German-Hungarian feast at Chez Vamp with kudos all around. Served it with piping hot Spaetzle and a cool German Cucumber Salad. Perfect Tyrolean winter fare. (And lederhosen aside, I have to say that the mountains of dirty frozen snow in Brooklyn as of late have required Alpine hiking rigor.)

Need proof that Chicken Paprikash can take on the likes of NYC menu standards like Chicken Pot Pie or Shrimp and Grits? Try my recipe below and taste for yourself.

Chicken Paprikash

1 chicken (3 - 4 lbs) cut into ten pieces (I cut the breasts in half)
1/2 cup plus 2 TBSP flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/4 cup canola oil
1 lg onion minced
1 1/2 cloves garlic minced
1 TBSP Sweet Hungarian Paprika
2 plum tomatoes, peeled, seeded and diced
1/2 Italian frying pepper (aka cubanelle pepper), diced
1 TBSP tomato paste
1 1/2 cup chicken broth
3/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup Italian parsley, finely chopped

Mix 1/2 cup flour with salt and pepper, and dredge chicken pieces in the mixture, shaking off excess flour. Heat oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat, adding chicken a few pieces at a time, turning once to allow for browning on each side. Put chicken aside. Add onion, garlic, paprika, peppers and tomatoes, stirring until soft, about 5 minutes. Add tomato paste, stirring for another minute until incorporated. Pour in chicken broth and stir before placing chicken pieces back into the Dutch oven. Cover and allow to cook on medium heat for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, mix together sour cream with remaining 2 TBSP flour. Mix into the chicken and sauce. Allow to cook for another 3 -4 minutes. Sprinkle parsley on top before serving.

My Go-To's: Buvette

Thought it was time to break out a few posts about my standbys -- the spots with great food and drink that have yet to fail me; a guide to the restaurants that I turn to time and time again. First up, a heavenly slice of a French cafe known as Buvette. Chef Jody Williams created a charming, almost giddy scene, when she opened the doors to this West Village enclave on Grove Street. Streaming with sunlight, the room beckons you inside.

The only hitch? Sometimes you'll have to wait for a table or bar stool. Not a problem in my opinion. Especially when you see that democracy is most definitely in play. (Once stood outside on an early summer evening alongside Jake Gyllenhaal, who also waited a half-hour for a seat.)

Admittedly, I find myself hitting Buvette at off-hours to avoid a wait. If I plan correctly, I can immediately sidle up to the bar or grab a table, order a glass of wine or a bracing espresso and joyfully snack on the restaurant's series of ambitious small plates.

If I'm in a breakfast mood, a flaky, butter-rich Croissant with tart raspberry jam might do the trick, or perhaps perfectly scrambled eggs prepared with the steam from a cappuccino frother. Top the eggs with paper-thin slivers of shaved Proscuitto of slices of Smoked Salmon and it's quite the substantial morning or brunch-time meal. If my cravings are of the lunch or dinner variety, I often end up ordering Williams' ethereal Brandade De Morue and slather thick slices of toast with this addictive house-cured salt cod spread. Sometimes, I'll simply get a hunk of the Country Pate, served up with mouth-puckering cornichons and a few meaty olives, and compliment it with a plate of wilted leeks in a mustardy vinaigrette. Too ravenous for something along those lines? I'll go straight for a "tartinette" graced with salted butter and anchovies, followed by the hearty comfort of Coq au Vin or Cassoulet.

And, no meal at Buvette is complete without dessert. Seriously. Forgo these sweets at your own peril: an exquisite caramelized wedge of Apple Tarte Tartin with a dollop of Creme Fraiche, or a scoop of miraculously dense, ever-so-slightly bitter Chocolate Mousse. Either way, you cannot go wrong.

I've been a die-hard fan of Chef Williams since she was at Gottino, and with Buvette going strong now with branches in both New York and Paris, I expect to enjoy her hospitality and brilliance in the kitchen for years to come. And, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up purchasing her upcoming Buvette cookbook this April too. A little Buvette at Chez Vamp might be a very good thing indeed.

The Southern Fish Shack of My Dreams

Never had I thought that a takeout fish spot, two hours from the closest beach, could bring me such unmitigated culinary pleasure. But damned if Durham, North Carolina's Saltbox Seafood Joint doesn't serve up some of the most freakin' delicious seafood on the planet. Almost want to jump on a plane right now to head back to this wee shack and order up the entire chalkboard menu.

Now that I think about it, I wish I had ordered the entire bill of fare while I was at the joint's takeout window in the first place. (So foolish of me not to do so!) Still, my pal Mr. L and I were more than satisfied with the two hefty sandwiches we tried. Both served on fluffy white, butter-toasted rolls, topped with a vinegary slaw and a drizzle of housemade tartare, Mr. L opted for his filled with freshly grilled dogfish, while I went for fried oysters...

Crisp and well-seasoned, these oysters held creamy, sweet, meaty centers that practically melted on the tongue.

So. Damn. Good.

I don't think I can ever look at a bare-bones shack again without my mouthwatering and my eyes rolling back in my head for the memory of that genius sandwich. And, if I didn't know better, I think I get a whiff of the ocean and sense a little sand between my toes as I remember that miraculous first bite.

Happy Tiki Birthday To Me

Did you think it was possible to close out the year without mention of my birthday festivities? At this point, birthday blogging is as much of a tradition as blowing out the candles. And, as bdays go, I will say that this was a blowout year.

Highlights included:

*Plump Shrimp Dumplings and Sticky Rice in Lotus Leaf at Chinatown's flashy dim summery Red Egg

*A miracle of a Slow-Braised Lamb Shank at Astoria's upscale Greek hot spot MP Taverna

*Oatmeal Cookie Ice Cream, happily downed in the middle of a snowstorm at Oddfellow's in Williamsburg

*A plate of Zizi Limona's perfectly-fried Falafel Balls, balanced atop Pickled Cabbage and Charred Onion, then drizzled with Curried Yogurt

*Bowls of al dente pasta followed by dense Lemon Olive Oil Cake at the East Village's Porsena

Sounds terrific, right? But the coupe de grace was a road trip to Staten Island with my pals Jim and Max.

Yes. You read correctly. Staten Island. Why are you surprised? I've written about this much-maligned outerborough before.

This trip was different though. Food wasn't set in our Staten Island sites. We were after pleasures of another sort. The kind that came in carved out coconuts or Hawaiian surfer girl glasses, with large spears of brightly colored fruit, dangling orchid flowers and paper umbrellas.

We ventured to Staten Island for the Polynesian cocktails, preferably accompanied by plenty of 1970's kitsch and old men remembering the good old days when disco ruled and leisure suits were the height of fashion.

Arriving at the strip mall classic Jade Island, we knew we'd come to the right place. Scorpions, Navy Grog and Zombies were on the menu, the lighting was decidedly day-glo, Tiki gods lined the walls and AARP members were lined up at the bar. Yowsa!

Several potent Polynesian favorites were had as we kibbitzed with the regulars, but the libation of the night arrived in a hollowed pineapple with two kinds of rum and three straws...

Oh. Heck. Yeah! Happy freakin' Tiki birthday to me! Who needs the Big Island when you have the Isle of Staten?

Now the question is: How do we top that field trip when it comes to next year's birthday? Luckily, Jim and Max have some time to think about it...