VittlesVamp

Picky Nicky

My very grown up pal Nick has always presented himself as a picky eater. Even his wife would complain that their toddler's palate was more mature.

Chopped up celery in Tuna Salad? Ick!

Arugula? What the heck is that?!!

Macaroni and Cheese? Only if it's out of a box!

Clearly, he's a tough one to go out to dinner with in VittlesVamp style. That said, when pressed, I've had him try basic pastas at Otto and the hamburger at Blue Smoke. They did the job, but barely.

Now though, something has happened. Something mysterious. Something powerful.

When Nick hit NYC last week, I spent time inspecting menus to find a place that might fit the bill that wasn't Applebee's. Then it came to me: the ultimate kid food that adults love too - pizza. Veloce Pizza. Nick wouldn't be willing to eat the Mushroom Pie with its Hen in the Woods and such, nor the crust, but he just might go for the Margherita, hold the basil.

We went. I hoped.

First up, we shared an app of Potato Fritters with Prosciutto di Parma, Grana Padano and Mint. They were sort of like Tater Tots, so I could see how they might pass Nick's taste test. Then came the shocker -- a salad of romaine hearts, tomato, red onion and cucumber doused in a vibrant oregano dressing. Besides being a bit put off by the dark green skin left on the slices of hothouse cucumber, Nick dove right in. Same went for the Porchetta Sausage Pie with rosemary, sage, fennel pollen, tomato sauce and mozzarella.

Nick ate FENNEL POLLEN!!!! Moreover, Nick ate the PIZZA CRUST!!!

I was in a daze as we left the restaurant, turning the corner down the East Village's strip of Indian cafes on 6th Street. Was it possible that Nick's body had been taken over by an alien with an adventurous palate? My head still spinning, suddenly Nick stopped short and took in a deep breath of the air, thick with exotic spices. He smiled and let me know how much he longed for a plate of Chicken Curry. Wasn't the smell delightful?

Whoa! YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF CURRY?????!!!!!???? Who are you? What happened to my conservative, finicky friend Nick?!? Next thing you'll tell me is that you got a tattoo or something!!!

And sure enough...

It was on his ankle. Subtle. Not a skull or anything, but a tattoo nonetheless.

All I can say is that there must be magic in that there tattoo. Magic that brought Nick's palate to life. Or at least into adulthood.

Alien or no, I promise Vamp-worthy culinary escapades the next time Nick travels to New York. And, if he keeps this up, I might even cook!

Chicken Again?

Yes. Chicken again.

A totally different take though. This recipe is sort of an Italian riff on an Asian stir-fry, complete with a garlicky good rice pilaf on the side.

Lovingly prepared for a lovely colleague for dining during a working lunch, I decided to put some homemade pesto to use alongside grape tomatoes, zucchini, a few precious slivers of pancetta and two plump chicken breasts. I tossed them all together stoveside with some cream, butter and the previously noted pesto. Voila! Lunch -- as pictured above.

My work pal was duly impressed with my kitchen performance. Even more so once he took a bite.

The new "Next Food Network Star" can eat their heart out. I'm eating chicken.

Beignets In Brooklyn

I've been MIA as of late. My excuse? Exhaustion. Exhaustion and lack of couch.

Seriously. My couch was out of action for over two weeks, getting a nip, tuck and reupholstering in garnet red. All part of my home's ongoing facelift. But, it's back now. Looking great. And, allowing me to lax a bit in my small (albeit fabulous) apartment.

The past couple of weeks have mostly been a whirlwind of work.

Besides my recent weekend in Philadelphia with Mama Vamp -- more on that later -- there is only one moment awash in calm and contentment that stays with me still.

It was a much needed stop on Atlantic Avenue at Stan's Place for a deeply satisfying glass of Iced Coffee and three plump Beignets crowned with powdered sugar. The golden fried Beignets required a "little something" as a foil, so a thimble of jelly was brought to the table. I had hoped for Raspberry Jam, but I made do with the Grape Jelly on hand, turning the New Orleans pastries into mock Jelly Doughnuts.

The serenity didn't last for very long though. And, neither did the coffee or Beignets.

That said, I think I'm back now, along with my sofa.

More edible adventures to come...

Tomato Aspic With Pickled Stringbeans & Other Adventures

Did you think I was all talk and no action? If so, you're gravely mistaken.

No matter how vile the notion of Tomato Aspic sounded to my fragile Yankee ears, I was bound and determined to whip up a version for my recent Bayou boys supper. A particularly fine Bayou boy had made the request and I hate to disappoint anyone with a Southern accent.

And, there it is above, in all it's Creole-seasoned glory, accompanied by Pickled Stringbeans, Chilled Baby Shrimp and a dipping sauce of mayo and creme fraiche. I also provided guests with a cold shot of vodka to go with. Sorta like a deconstructed, wiggly, jiggly Bloody Mary.

Will I brave the concept of aspic and gelatin molds again? Probably not.

But, I will most certainly brave my evening's dessert again -- Bananas Foster. In fact, fire extinguisher at my side, I daringly set it aflame. I wasn't exactly a flambe goddess that night, but it did spark a nice blue flame for a moment. Plus, it was decadently delicious -- and didn't wiggle or jiggle even a teeny, tiny bit.

And Even More Balls

They seem to follow me wherever I go. Perhaps it is sign from the heavens...

But, when I'm honest with myself, I realize that these Bombas de Jamon y Queso were simply a sign of "feh." Fatty, fried feh. One of several underwhelming results from a markedly mediocre tapas cooking class at the Institute of Culinary Education.

I had been so wowed at a recent Slow Food pig butchery class at the Institute that admittedly I had high expectations for this one-night Spanish cuisine session.

That'll teach me. Or in this case -- not teach me.

Instead of learning tricks of the tapas trade across the board, we were each individually assigned recipes and immediately put to work.

I can do that in my own kitchen. I don't need to pay for the privilege.

And, I was disappointed that I didn't even get to make some of the dishes I was most interested in, such as the Gazpacho Shots with Sweet Chile Serrano Foam...

Instead, I made a Spanish Tortilla, without use of the recipe's suggested French mandolin, as none were to be had. Between that and not enough oversight from the teacher, I ended up with a very pretty, but undercooked and tough rendition...

The one saving grace...

Sangria.

It didn't entirely distract from the greasy Mejillones Rellenos or bland Mini-Torchon de Bacalo con Salda de Chorizo y Datiles, but it was eminently tastier.

Think I best turn to my copy of "1080 Recipes" if I want to tackle tapas properly. And, if I have a pitcher of Sangria at my side as I cook, all the better!

Pesach Lamb

It had been a couple years since I'd prepared a Tagine -- in Marrakech of all places. But I felt like I was up for the challenge this Passover, especially with a professional chef pal making the request for "lamb" at the seder table.

So, after the ritual reading of the Haggadah, the viewing of the plagues in technicolor and helpings of my Homemade Chicken Soup with Matzoh Balls, I served the above Moroccan Lamb Tagine with Dates, Currants and Toasted Almonds. Graced with onions, carrots, turnips, chickpeas, garlic, saffron, tumeric, cumin and cinnamon, it sat atop buttery, warm carpet of couscous and elicited moans of delight and heartfelt praise from my guests.

And, let me say this: Even the leftovers tasted marvelous, straight out of the microwave the next day.

Suddenly, I'm thinking Beef Brisket may have been supplanted as my Passover go-to main. That said, come hell or high water (or parted waters for that matter) the Matzoh Ball Soup will remain unmoved from the menu.

The Weekend That Was

It was hectic to say the least. Next time, more sleep is necessary. Nonetheless, I made good use of my weekend time this past Friday night through Sunday, including:

*Dicing up carrots, celery, shallots, garlic, fresh thyme and more in the cooking of fragrant, homemade Chicken Broth for the Matzoh Ball Soup at my upcoming -- kick-ass -- seder dinner.

*Brunch at Cookshop, where I spied "Gossip Girl" stars Ed Westwick and Vanessa Szohr at a table out front. (Nothing like a celebrity spotting over scrambled eggs!)

*Taking in an odd, yet compelling musical called "Next To Normal," which was a mash-up between "A Beautiful Mind" and "Ordinary People," with a dash of the teen angst musical "Spring Awakening" thrown in for good measure.

*Nibbling on a zesty, cilantro-tinged Veal Cheek Taco at the theater district Mexican cantina Toaloche, with a good friend who works on the hit show "Wicked."

*Catching the premiere of "The Tudors" and being sorely disappointed that there doesn't seem to be nearly enough debauchery in King Henry VIII's court this season.

*Working. Yes, I was working -- on both Saturday and Sunday, in between my fun-filled plans. A client hired me for a last minute launch. Pshaw!

*Pouring myself a proper Gin & Tonic with a squeeze of fresh lime, after I finished my weekend workload. It was cold, bubbly, refreshing -- and well-deserved.

Brown Bag Cinema

Mama Vamp used to pack brown bag lunches for myself and my brother when she took us to the local movie theater for afternoon Disney double-features as children.

Now it was my turn. However, I was going solo. And sadly "Bednobs & Broomsticks" and "Lady & The Tramp" were not showing at my neighborhood cinema.

Instead, I was going to see "The Reader," the dramatic tale of a clandestine affair between a teen and former Nazi prison guard, and consequences triggered by a war-crime trial years later.

It was a tough call, but Jewess that I am, I knew which way I'd go.

I packed a Ham and Cheese Sandwich.

Treyf seemed fitting.

I was right. It was.

That said, I have absolutely no idea what sort of lunch to bring along, if I go to see "Watchmen" next weekend. Any suggestions?

Seven Courses

It took till now for all the pots, pans, dishes and glassware to be cleaned and put away. It's times like this that I thank the Lord for my dishwasher.

Still, even if it had broken down, it was worth it. Seven courses. All in the name of my good friend Mr. L and his 40th birthday.

Okay, not ALL in his name. Admittedly, I was delighted by the prospect of letting loose in my kitchen for a multi-course extravaganza for Mr. L and his husband Mr. P. And, now that Mr. L had decided to jump head-long into oenophile obsession, I knew that the pairings would be nothing short of sublime.

We kicked off the evening with a bottle of Bollinger Champagne accompanied by buttery, warm, spicy Bar Nuts and silky Cerignola olives.

Bubbles and nibbles.

A great start to a great meal.

Table service began with a fave -- Basque Tuna Tartare with Endive...

In retrospect, I think a few more leaves of endive were necessary to scoop up the luxuriously chive-laced sashimi-grade fish. Still, with forks in one hand and glasses of crisp Sancerre in the other, we had no problem making "all gone."

Same goes with the following course of Rigatoni with Pancetta and Radicchio...

...with hits of shallot, a splash of Balsamic vinegar, a grating of parmesan and bits of rosemary to round out this toothsome dish.

And, soon the main event would arrive. Mr. L had just the wine to accompany: Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon...

...a deep crimson wine with hints of tobacco and cassis. It proved the perfect foil for Seared Porcini-Crusted Ribeye Steak served with Mashed Rutabaga and Frizzled Leeks, and Sugar Snap Peas with Fresh Oregano and Lemon Zest...

Soft sighs of happiness were heard around the table. But, there was still a little Cab to be had. A good thing too, since it would be necessary to wash down the next course: cheese, cheese and more cheese...

The board featured Ibores, a fragrant semi-soft goat's milk cheese from Spain, Valdeón Blue Cheese, a slightly sweet and creamy blue wrapped in Sycamore Leaves, and Rossellino, a young Pecornino rubbed in tomato paste. Companions included Quince Paste, Toasted Pecans and Stewed Dark Cherries with Star Anise.

Moans of contentment could be heard around the table. Nevertheless, Mr. L said he could not wait a moment longer for dessert.

The birthday boy's wish was my command.

And so, I brought forth thick Butterscotch Custards topped with Bourbon Cream, and poured cups of aromatic French-Press Coffee.

Spoons scraped the sides of the ramekins as I brought out the last sweet taste for the evening...

Bright red, juicy, freshly picked Strawberries plated with ambrosial Dark Chocolate Bon Bons from gourmand chocolatier Jacques Torres.

There were no more sighs. No more moans. Just smiles of glorious contentment.

Nothing could beat that. Not even birthday candles. So, instead, I blew out the votives on the table and we called it a night.

The door shut behind my guests and then I was left with the aftermath of pure joy: the dishes.

If it hadn't been for the blissful evening that had proceeded -- and the divine intervention of my dishwasher -- it could have been a buzz kill. Lucky for me, I quickly plopped the offending plates, pots, pans and glasses into the machine, pushed "start" and was drifted off to sleep by the comforting, cleansing lullaby of the Maytag singing "swish, swish, swish" -- looking forward to dreaming about Mr. L's next birthday. Or, Mr. P's for that matter.

Chelsea Market: Amy's Bread

Resistance was futile. Work in Chelsea Market long enough and the fresh, yeasty scent of warm, out-of-the-oven bread sings its siren's song and beckons you through the door to Amy's Bread.

The sweet stuff was certainly enticing. Who can resist Cherry Cream Scones, Double Chocolate Pecan Cookies or Almond Brioche Toast?

Me -- especially when there is an array of hand-crafted, European breads to tempt my palate. Whole Wheat with Walnuts, Black Olive Fougasse, Focaccia with Rosemary, Pumpernickel studded with Currants, and Potato Onion Dill Bread all seemed to call my name.

Starch! Glorious, starch!

I tried to turn away.

It was impossible.

I finally succumbed, but found the strength to refrain from a full-on loaf lunge. Instead, I went for a small hit -- a Twist. In this case a twist with all the right moves -- Semolina dotted with Golden Raisins and infused with Fennel.

It was just enough to satisfy my urge. At least for the time being...